Did I Make The Most Of Loving You?
by JustCatchMe24
Summary: She was running away from her past, he was avoiding his future. She was trying to make a new life for herself, he was trying to end his. Lady Sybil Crawley runs away to Ireland, and meets Tom Branson. S/T, Modern/AU. M for dark themes, self-harm, alcoholism, death, suicide.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own. Story and chapter titles credit Don Black, Downton Abbey theme song performed by Mary-Jess. Lovely song.

Bit of a role reversal. Dark themes, please don't read if you're not comfortable.

* * *

It is her second day working at The Ferryman, a Tuesday, that she notices him. An ordinary-enough customer –black zip-up jacket, worn shoes, jeans muddy a good two inches above the bottom. Well, it _is _Dublin – the first thing she'd been told when she moved into her flat was to expect the rain.

He pushes his way through the usual rowdy crowds to find a table near the back. The atmosphere is hazy, but she makes out a hint of a scowl on his features as he runs a hand through his hair and lets it flop back onto his forehead. She grabs a pad and pen and hurries over. It's been her experience that surly customers don't tip well, and she's rather in need of those.

"Hello, what can I get you?" she asks, taking in blue eyes and light brown hair. The scowl remains etched on what are otherwise handsome features.

He glares up at her for a second, clearly not recognizing her, and clearly not appreciating her efforts. If he's surprised by her accent, he doesn't comment on it. "The usual… though I don't suppose you know what that is," he says rudely.

Her eyes widen a bit at his tone, but she's quickly coming to realize people frequent bars for a variety of reasons. One of them is to get over a bad day. He'll surely be friendlier with his "usual" drink in him, whatever that is. She tries for a smile.

"Well, sir, as you can see, I'm new here. My second day, in fact. So if you could just tell me what your usual is, I'll be sure to remember it next time."

"Coffee… get Maddy to show you how to make it," he says curtly before turning away from her to look out the window. She nods, though he doesn't see, and hurries off.

Maddy is flirting with a drunk man seated at the bar. She quickly grabs her, and in a low tone, says, "I need your help. Apparently this man who comes here a lot, drinks coffee? Says you would know how he takes it." She gestures over to his corner discreetly. Maddy takes a quick look and brushes her red braid over her shoulder with a laugh.

"Did he bite your head off? Tom's a bit rough, but he's an alright bloke. Come on, Sybil, I'll show you to make it." She leads her to the corner where they keep the coffee machine.

* * *

Turns out Tom's coffee is more Jameson's than coffee, and Sybil wrinkles her nose at the smell as she hands it to him that first day. She hasn't developed a taste for Irish whiskey, probably from all the days drinking fine wines at her father's estate in England.

When she spots Tom walk in at around the same time the next day, she catches his eye. He nods at her briefly and she flashes a quick smile, hurrying to the coffee machine.

She makes it entirely too strong and, as she waits around while he takes a sip to make sure it is not all wrong, he chokes on it a bit. She bites her lip worriedly as he looks back up at her. He says nothing for a second, then laughs. It is not a pleasant sound – bitter, mirthless – but she does not feel threatened.

"Too much?" she asks tentatively.

"S'alright," he tells her before returning to staring out the window. Sybil nods, though he doesn't see, and heads to clear a recently vacated table.


	2. Chapter 2

It is her first Friday night working at The Ferryman, and Sybil is more tired than she has been in her life. She knew it would be tiresome work, being on her feet all day, but it seems the crowds are double tonight, and she is swamped with calls for another round (of what? She struggles to remember what each group is drinking), drunken catcalls, and even the odd sneer at her accent.

When she sees Tom slouch in, an hour later than usual and already looking a bit worse for wear, she stops for a moment. He does not look her way, but heads to a back table, and she suppresses a sigh.

Sybil has perfected his coffee now, and when she places it carefully down on his table along with a smile, Tom actually says thank you. She wishes she weren't quite so busy, so she could stay and chat for a minute, but she is instantly hailed by the next table, and has to rush away with no more than a quick smile.

By two am, the crowds have thinned, and Sybil takes a weary seat behind the bar for a moment. She rests her aching head on her hands for a second, and hears someone clear their throat from the other side of the bar. She looks up quickly to find Tom staring at her.

His gaze is rather glazed, and she wonders at the glass of Guinness clutched unsteadily in his hand. Maybe Maddy has been serving him on the side, though that would be unusual, since the two girls usually divide up the customers and take care of their own. Sybil does not recall getting Tom any other drinks and perhaps she has stared too long at his drink now, because he says, "Maddy- Maddy-… You were busy," with a shrug that is apparently supposed to convey to her why her hard-earned tips will now be, she supposes, going to Maddy instead. Sybil bites her lips against her irritation and says nothing.

The man – Tom, she calls him in her head, though they have never been introduced, takes a seat in front of her and finishes his drink in silence. He doesn't seem the flirtatious type, and she sighs inwardly, wondering why all the good-looking men don't seem to like her. Now, if she were Irish, with long red hair, like Maddy, maybe…

"Can I have another?" he says, pushing his glass at her a bit. Sybil looks at him with a little concern. She was in training to be a nurse, before she ran away to Ireland, and she doesn't think he should have any more.

"Are you quite sure? It's very late, don't you want to be getting home?"

Sybil wonders why she cares whether he gets home safe or not. One of the first things she learned about working in a bar was to let people make their stupid decisions for themselves. But something about the lonely man in front of her has caught her attention.

Apparently, that is something you should never say to a drunk man at 2 am in a lonely bar in Ireland. Tom looks up at her incredulously, his blue eyes more than expressive, and Sybil grabs his glass and quickly returns with a refill. He doesn't say anything, just takes it and downs half of it in one go, then returns to staring morosely at the dinged-up counter.

Sybil studies him, his messy hair, his fraying jacket, his smooth-shaven face which looks rather pale and listless in the dim lighting. She wants desperately to know his story, and it's certainly not inappropriate for bartenders to talk to their customers about personal things, but somehow, it feels wrong to her. She's so used to being proper and polite, never prying or asking impertinent questions, that it never occurs to her that perhaps he's here for that very reason.

A few more silent minutes go by. They are strangely not awkward, as he drinks his beer and looks at the glasses hanging behind her, and she looks out a window. Sybil closes her eyes, her head on her hand. He is her last customer, and then she is to lock up and head home, to her small but comfortable flat two blocks away. She wonders if he will tip her extra for making her wait, but doubts it.

"You're English," his voice breaks into her thoughts and she jumps slightly before looking at him.

"I am."

"What are you doing here, in a bar?"

Sybil smiles sadly. "It's rather a long story," she tells him, thinking he will not care enough to ask further.

Tom shrugs. "I haven't got anywhere to be."

Sybil eyes him for a moment, as if wondering if he's trustworthy enough to tell her life story to. Tom looks back at her, his gaze void of any emotion, including the slightest bit of interest. He does have the unreadable expression down, she thinks.

"I ran away from home. I have a friend in Dublin, Gwen, so I came here. I needed money for a flat, so I started working here on Monday."

"Daddy didn't have enough money to send you on your way?" he asks, and his sarcasm is the first hint of emotion he's shown her all night. Sybil looks at him, a bit hurt, but barely on speaking terms with the man, hardly in a position to reproach him for his blunt words.

"Well, I was running away from him. My family. That life. I wasn't exactly loading my trunks with cash," she says instead.

"Some would say a posh life in a big fancy estate in England would be the stuff of dreams."

"Not my dreams." She thinks of the odious man she had been reluctantly dating, a boor by the name of Larry Grey. Her parents had thought he was a wonderful match for her. She had wondered if they were clinically insane.

She laughs, a bit bitterly. "They wanted this… _life_ for me. You know? Marry a rich and-and cruel man, live in a fancy house, show up to society events and be a… be a fecking puppet. My sisters – they're alright with living in a world that no longer exists, but I went to uni in London – biggest mistake my parents ever made with me," she adds with a smile. "And I was studying to be a nurse, and I wanted to be independent, and cook for myself and live in a flat in a big city."

"So running to Dublin has become the way young rich girls rebel," he muses, then laughs. "God, I did not think it was such an attractive place."

"It isn't. I prefer London. But Gwen is here, and I had nobody in London who wasn't a friend of my parents' and I just wanted to get… completely away. They would never come to Ireland. My father still thinks he's his great-grandfather, and that if he came here, the Irish would murder him for being English."

"Are you so sure it's safe for you either?" Tom asks her, his eyes a bit mocking. Sybil ignores it.

"I'm not- I can take care of myself," she insists. "I'm an adult-"

"How old?"

"23."

Tom starts laughing again. His laugh, when genuinely amused, and not bitterly cynical, is actually quite nice. Sybil watches him huffily, leaning on the bar, her head propped up on her arms.

"I suppose you think I'm an overdramatic silly girl."

He does not reply, though that should perhaps be her answer. Tom finishes his drink and stands to go. He does not stumble, but he doesn't look at her as he grips the bar for a moment.

"Are you sure you'll be alright to get home?" she doesn't know why she's worried about him. He hasn't even paid his tab yet, and he has just mocked her entire life. "Do you- do you want me to walk you back?"

Tom gives her another incredulous look. He studies her face contemplatively as she blushes under his gaze.

"Look," he says finally. He pauses. "Did I ever catch your name?"

"Sybil," she says, holding out a hand with a small laugh. He shakes it.

"Tom." Sybil nods. She has already been calling him that in her head for awhile now.

"Sybil. A word of advice. I don't know what you were thinking – running away from family, money, safety… because of some stupid disagreements – but now that you've done it, at least be smart about it."

He sounds remarkably sober, and she looks up at him and feels very young.

"You're in a different _country_. You aren't going to be accepted and welcomed everywhere you go because of who your daddy is. Not every man you see is going to be a gentleman and-and…" he seems to need a second to think what a gentleman actually does, "and kiss your hand, and dance waltzes with you. You can't-" he shakes a finger at her-, "You _can't _offer to walk men you see in a bar home. They will get entirely the wrong idea, and you'll-… Look. I have a sister your age, and I'm just sayin' this-this-," he waves a hand vaguely at the bar and her, "this isn't some teenage rebellion. This is real and if you aren't smart, you're going to get hurt."

He seems to have finished, and looks rather embarrassed to have said so much. His cheeks are a bit red, and he looks steadier than before as he looks down at her. Sybil's heart is pounding, and for the first time since she arrived in Ireland, she feels scared, and so very alone. For the first time, she wonders if she's made a mistake.

Some of her thoughts must be on her face, because Tom sighs. He zips up his jacket and looks around. "Look, are you done over here? Can I walk you home?"

Sybil looks around, really seeing the run-down place where she works. It is a far cry from the richly decorated parlors she used to frequent. It's not a _bad_ place to work, just a bit seedy, and some of the clients get a little rowdy at times. But in the week she's been here, she hasn't felt unsafe. Sybil looks at the dark night outside, and takes a quick breath.

"Yes. Let me get my jacket," she tells him before hurrying to the back. She tosses her apron on the pile of rags to be washed, slips into a warm black trenchcoat, and clicks the lights in the back off. Tom is waiting by the door, and she follows him out, locks up behind her, and starts off in the direction of her flat.

He is not drunk, but his steps are rather unsteady, and Sybil takes his arm. He looks at her in surprise, and tries to pull away, but she just hushes him and continues to lead him back to where she lives.

They walk silently, and Sybil looks at the quiet night around them. It is far more intimidating than she's recalled, and she is suddenly incredibly grateful for this strange man she's come to like.

They stop outside her building, and Tom looks at it for a second. Sybil looks at him. He turns to her and seems surprised to find her gaze on him.

"It's not far, and it is cheap. Not so bad inside either," she says hesitantly. He nods, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. Sybil lets go of his arm.

"Thank you for walking me back, Tom," she says, looking up at him. "Are you sure you'll get home alright? I mean, you had quite a bit-"

Tom laughs. "This was your first Friday. I'll be just fine."

"Still… I'll feel better once I know you're at home in bed." She blushes red at how her words sound, and he chuckles. "Do you-I mean, you have a flat right?"

"I'm not homeless, Sybil," he says wryly.

"I know," she says quickly. "Could you- would you, maybe, text me, when you've reached? Um, do you have a mobile?"

Tom pulls a phone out of his pocket and rolls his eyes at her. Sybil reaches out a hand and he hands it to her. She quickly finds his contact list and adds her name and number.

"Thank you."

"Good night, Sybil."

"Good night, Tom."

She lets herself in to her building, and turns to look back, but he has already rounded the corner and is gone.


	3. Chapter 3

When Tom walks into The Ferryman the next day, it is noon, and Sybil is carefully balancing three plates on her tray. She smiles at the sight of him, and he somewhat shyly smiles back. He does not sit, but waits til she has finished with her dishes and heading back to the bar, to fall in step beside her.

"Hello, Tom."

"Hello. I, uh, I just wanted to say I don't drink on Saturday afternoons. So you don't need to-" he gestured at the coffee machine she had been about to go to. Sybil nods.

"Also, I forgot to pay yesterday. So – it was a coffee and 4 Guinness, so here's-" he hands her the money. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, I forgot to ask. My fault, really. Um, what do you usually have for lunch?"

"Fish and chips is good." He nods at her and starts to head to a table, when he suddenly turns around. She is still looking at him.

"I am sorry, by the way, for last night," he tells her. "I think- I may have overstepped. I recall giving out a lot of unsolicited advice, and I'm sorry for that."

"Oh. No… you were quite alright," she smiles at him and her eyes crinkle at the corners. He takes her in for a second, then recollects himself, and hurries to a table.

* * *

When she brings him his meal, he looks up and thanks her. Sybil is still intensely curious about his story, and now that he has heard hers, can't stop thinking of how she might find it out. Tom looks from his plate to her, still standing by his side (she always stays behind for a few seconds at his table, he is not sure why. He doesn't see her doing it to the other customers, not that he watches her quick, graceful movements around the dingy room. He thinks she must have been taught dance as a girl, probably ballet or some other such fancy thing.)

"Do you-… you can sit," he tells her. "If you're not too busy, that is."

Sybil beams, looks quickly around the room, then tucks herself into the seat across from him. She pulls her feet out of her shoes with a small sigh of relief. There is a coffee stain on the knee of her jeans and she eyes it sharply for a second.

"How are you?" she asks, when it becomes obvious he has absolutely nothing to say.

Tom shrugs. He looks hungover, and she is glad he has decided on his own that he shouldn't drink today. He drinks entirely too much for her liking.

"Saturday lunch is not that busy," she observes, looking around at the half-full pub.

Tom snorts. "Because the food is shit, no offense." He pushes the plate towards her, and Sybil takes a chip. "Besides fish and chips, really."

"Why do you come here every day?" she asks, hoping she sounds casual. She holds her breath as Tom takes another chip. He doesn't seem to notice anything unusual.

"Dunno. Been coming here for a year. I used to come here-" he abruptly breaks off.

"What?"

"Um, never mind."

"Do you have a job?"

Tom nods. "Journalist."

"Oh, that's lovely. Must be exciting to travel all around."

He shrugs and takes another chip.

Sybil is feeling a bit frustrated with her conversation attempts. If he had no intention of talking, why did he invite her to sit with him? She scans the rest of the pub, but nobody seems to miss her, and she's still dying to know more about him.

"You said, yesterday, you were training to be a nurse." His voice startles her. Sybil nods.

"Did you quit it?"

Sybil's cheeks go red. She can see the picture of her he's forming.

"Why'd you quit? If you liked it."

"Long story?" she tries, with a weak smile. Tom just raises an eyebrow at her, and she is struck by how much more attractive he is in the light of day.

"Well… I suppose I told you a bit about my life in England. It wasn't terrible when I was growing up, I think, just rather dull. I really wanted to go to Uni and my parents… humored me, I suppose, on that. I studied biology. I really wanted to become a doctor, but my parents refused to put me through the program, and I couldn't change their minds. Nursing was… less intense, but also interesting, so I told them I wanted to do that instead, and they agreed."

She pauses, and looks to see if she's bored him. He's watching her so she continues.

"Around my second year, my parents called me up for a weekend to tell me that they had agreed with Lord Grey that I would marry his son. Larry," her face twists.

"The thing is, I knew Larry. He wasn't really in our set, he had gone to school abroad, but he was-waswell-known. At any rate, none of the girls in our circle wanted to marry him, if-?" she looks up at him, and her blue eyes seem very innocent. "If you know what I mean? He was that kind of guy, and very cruel and ruthless besides."

"So of course, I said I would never do it. And Mama and Papa… _graciously_ agreed to break off the engagement, if I would quit my nursing program." She sighs.

"And they didn't bloody break it," Tom supplies.

Sybil sighs. "No… Six months later, Larry comes home from a trip to Germany, and waltzes in, and he-he thinks we're engaged, he acts like he… _owns_ me, or something. And it's already, Sybil, I want things like this, and Sybil, I like things like that. He was vile, Tom! Disgusting, and careless, and-"

She puts a hand over her face. "I saw him strike a maid in the face, for entering a room where he was. And she didn't even know he was there, he was sitting in the dark. I couldn't-I _couldn't_ marry a man like-"

"Of course not," Tom's voice is surprisingly soft, and sympathetic. Sybil brushes her fingers under her eyes hurriedly.

"So I tried to reason with him. I tried to tell my Papa. I cried to my Mama. My sisters tried to intervene. I-I threatened to run away. I don't think they truly believed I would do it. But after- after a particularly horrendous tea one afternoon, with the Greys, I- Larry, he-… well, he kissed me, and I went upstairs and packed my travel bag and bought a ticket out of the country. I haven't heard from them at all. I bought a new cell phone, and I didn't send them any letters, and I told Gwen to lie if they asked her if she'd seen me. Then I went looking for a job, and a flat. I have to pay my entire first paycheck this Friday to my rent, so, as you can see I've gone from being quite rich to in debt!" She lets out a laugh that sounds like a sob.

Tom is quiet as Sybil brushes her hair out of her face, and wipes her cheeks. She is sure her nose must be red, and she can't quite meet the eyes of this lonely stranger who has been so strangely kind.

"I am sorry for what you went through," he says at last. She looks up to find his gaze on her very steady and very comforting. "And I am sorry I said you were foolish yesterday. I didn't know, but it was rude of me to say. I'm afraid I'm not always the most polite person," he smiles ruefully.

"Oh, it's quite alright. I appreciated the advice. You were absolutely correct, you know. And thank you for listening to my little sob story, as you can see, I'm quite the damsel in distress over here," she smiles a bit mockingly.

Tom shakes his head. "I'd say you were the exact opposite. You stood up for your rights, and you did what you needed to. And you're not here begging on the streets, you've got a job, and you're making a life for yourself. Nothing distressing about that," he winks and Sybil feels her cheeks heat up.

She stands up, sneaking the last chip off the plate. Tom smirks at her. "I suppose you'll be paying for half my meal?" he asks jokingly, and she smiles.

"See you, Tom."

"Bye, Sybil."


	4. Chapter 4

The moment she has Maddy to herself for a minute, Sybil corners her and asks her what she knows about Tom. She doesn't even know his last name, to be able to Google him.

"Tom? Oh, coffee guy. Yeah, I have no idea what his deal is. He started coming in about a year ago. Sits and sulks in the corner alone. Never talks to anyone, won't flirt back," (Sybil rolls her eyes). "Actually, he's probably talked more to you in the past week than anyone all year. I think I heard Andy say something about a girlfriend or wife or something."

"He's married? He doesn't wear a ring."

Maddy arches an eyebrow at Sybil. "Someone fancies him."

Sybil blushes. "I do not! I just think he's interesting. And nice. And a bit handsome."

"Like I said. Anyway, you can check with Andy when he gets in this evening if you want."

"Thanks, Maddy."

* * *

Accordingly, Sybil approaches Andy, the bar manager when he comes in that evening to empty the cash registers. He greets her warmly. He hired her on a whim, but she has turned out to be a good worker.

"Tom?" he asks, raising his eyebrows when she stammers out her question. "He caught your eye, eh?"

"No… I just wondered why-… that is, he seems very sad. Or lonely. I just wanted to see if… there was anything _I _could do-… I know that's not my job."

"No, it's not. Why don't you ask him? Lots of customers like to talk when they're drunk."

"I'm afraid I'll offend him. I think- I think he has a drinking problem."

Andy looks up curiously from where he is counting notes. "Really? I hadn't noticed it. Suppose so."

"So… do you know why he's always drinking? He was so drunk on Friday night. I didn't even feel comfortable letting him go home alone!"

"So you went with him," Andy says with a grin.

"No! I didn't. Of course not," Sybil says with dignity. Andy guffaws.

"Just tell him if you're that desperate to shag him," he advises her, and Sybil gasps in shock. "Sure he'd not say no, bloke like that."

"Who's she desperate to shag?" a voice behind them asks, and Sybil whirls to find Tom standing there, his hands in his pockets and a tired look on his face. She blushes darkly, and wonders how much he's heard.

"Tom! Hi! It's-it's not what you think-" Sybil rushes to explain, feeling her whole face turn red. Tom looks at her curiously, but he has obviously no clue she's been talking about him, and seems confused why she's turning into a tomato. Andy winks at Tom, and he shifts uncomfortably. He's clearly missed something.

"I meant no one! I mean, not that I don't ever- I mean, not that I haven't- well, actually- I mean, let's just not talk about it," Sybil pleads, and she quickly walks away from Andy with one last scowl. Tom follows her as she stows her apron and grabs her jacket. "What are you doing here? Dinner too?"

"No, uh, I asked Maddy, and she said you get off at 6 today." He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable that he's shown any interest at all in her. "I thought I'd ask if you're interested in seeing the city, a bit. I-I could show you, if you like."

Sybil looks at him in surprise. She'd rather thought after their lunch, he'd want nothing to do with her, but he just seems nervous she might say no, or perhaps he is more nervous she might say yes. She can't quite tell. Is this a date, she wonders suddenly, and her throat feels dry.

"Um, sure! That sounds lovely. Can I just- can we just stop by my flat, and I can-"

"Sure."

"Ok, it's just- this way-" she starts to point out, as they walk out the door, before she realises he's been there already. She breaks off with an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little-" she feels her cheeks to see if they've returned to normal.

"What was he talking about?" Tom asks curiously. His hands are in his pockets, and there's a good foot between them. Sybil steps a bit closer, and tries to not notice how scuffed her shoes look.

"I- just… oh it was nothing," she says, ducking her head. "Just Andy being-"

"An arse."

"Yeah. Have you known him for awhile?"

"About a year. He's an alright bloke. Bit nosy, but then again, everyone knows everyone's business in Ireland."

"Sounds just like home," she grins, and he smiles.

* * *

They stop at her flat so she can change into something a little less ratty, though it's by no means fancy. Cleaner jeans, flats, and a long blue shirt that hangs off one shoulder. She splashes water on her face, and combs her hair as best she can, and after adding a dash of lip gloss, pops out of the loo to find Tom inspecting the photos on her mantle.

"I'm surprised you brought pictures," he says when he catches her watching.

She shrugs. "They're still my family. I hope I can go back one day."

She grabs her jacket, and they head out.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Mentions of self-harm, suicide. **

* * *

Tom knows a lot about Dublin. He's lived there since he was 6, and his mother moved with him, his three older brothers, and younger sister, so she could find work. She was a seamstress, until she died two years ago. His father died when he was four. His brothers are all married, and he lives with his sister, who's in her last year of uni at University College Dublin.

That is all Sybil is able to find out about him over the next two hours. They wander around the city, Tom pointing out sights here and there, and then stop for dinner in a pub. Tom orders a whiskey and Sybil bites her lip and asks for tea.

When their drinks arrive, she waits for the waitress to walk away before she quickly switches their drinks. Tom looks at her, startled.

"I thought you don't drink on Saturdays."

"That's lunch. This is dinner."

"I think you should take the day off. Besides, I've never tried this, so maybe it's time I did," she says brightly. Tom is too amused by the idea of her drinking Irish whiskey to protest. He bets he'll end up finishing it anyway.

Sybil reaches for the glass and sniffs it gingerly. Tom starts laughing. It is a merry sound and Sybil smiles to see his face, normally so gloomy, lit up. She takes a dainty sip, like it were wine, swishing it around a bit in her mouth, until it burns its way down her throat. Then she chokes, coughing and frantically reaching for the teacup in his hand.

Tom can't stop laughing as he lets her soothe her throat with his tea. Sybil feels her eyes water, and she smacks Tom on the shoulder for laughing at her, though she supposes it is quite funny.

Tom reaches around for the whiskey. Sybil coughs once more, and realizes she has finished his tea.

"Sorry about the tea. We can get another," she tells him. Her face feels red, and she is embarrassed, but Tom already doesn't seem like a stranger, and she is strangely comfortable despite what he has just witnessed.

"I'm good," he raises his glass to her, and Sybil frowns.

"I wish you wouldn't!" she puts her hand on the glass, and their fingers touch. Tom raises an eyebrow at her, and her grip tightens, winding between his fingers. She slowly pulls the glass from him, and sets it down away from them both. Then she reaches for his hand, which is still on the table, and threads her fingers through it.

Tom stares at their linked hands in shock. If he was surprised that she took his drink from him, it seems this gesture has floored him. Sybil's thumb caresses his hand, which is hard yet gentle, the fingers laced neatly with hers. It doesn't look like his hand to him. Is he really so unused to women, that a simple handclasp makes him so shy.

He clears his throat. His ears are a bit red. "Sybil-"

"Tom."

His face heats up at her tone, and he looks at her rather apprehensively, like he's thinking she's going to jump him right there. Perhaps not so unused to women after all. Then he pulls his hand away slowly, and puts it back into his pocket.

"Sybil, I shouldn't have-"

"Oh my god, I'm so stupid!"

"No, I just-"

"I just made a fool of myself and you-"

"No, it's not-"

"I'm so sorry! I'll just-"

"Sybil!"

She pauses from where she's frantically gathering her things, beyond embarrassed and tears starting to fringe her eyelashes. He's looking at her with an expression that looks a lot like guilt, and she feels like such a fool.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you."

"Oh my god, you _are _married, aren't you? Maddy said-"

"Sybil, please," he sighs, and rubs his forehead. She falls silent, and wishes desperately she could just kiss him and take away whatever seems to be plaguing him so.

After a minute, he slowly lowers his hand from his head, and starts rolling up the sleeves of his black jacket. She realises she's never seen him without it, but forgets that in a second, when she sees a long red scar running across his wrist. She doesn't need him to push up his other sleeve to know he has a scar on the other wrist as well.

She gasps, and takes in a ragged breath.

"You wanted to know why I've been drinking, didn't you? You asked Maddy and Andy. This is why."

His wrists are still on the table, in plain sight, and her heart breaks that he always has to cover them up. She hesitantly reaches out a hand and traces one scar with a shaking finger. She cannot imagine what he would have looked like, covered in blood and lifeless. She takes another shaky breath, and wants to hug him, but after the way he reacted to holding her hand, she can't risk it.

She touches his fingers gently instead and this time he grasps her hand warmly, before letting go. His touch is friendly, and the slightest bit open.

"Can I ask why?"

Tom clears his throat, his eyes on his wrists. "My wife died," he says, barely above a whisper. He looks up at her, and there are tears in his eyes. "Car accident. She was six months pregnant when it happened."

"Oh, god, Tom," this time Sybil doesn't hesitate but reaches up to hug him. He lets her, resting his head briefly in her soft hair. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

The walk back to her flat is rather silent, but Tom lets her hold his arm. He tells her the entire thing happened two years ago, that he then spent two months in a treatment center that his brothers forced him into, and that since then he's been drowning himself in alcohol and work to forget as best he can. She nods, and doesn't say anything else.

When they reach her flat, she turns to look at him. He's looking steadily at her, but she knows he won't be kissing her.

"Can we do this again, sometime?" she asks. Maybe he will be her first friend here. They are both alone, and lonely. And she can see Tom is hurting, still, and can't help wanting to help him.

Tom smiles at her. "I'd like that, Sybil."

"Good night, Tom. Thank you for the tour."

"Good night."

He's once again gone when she gets her door open and turns back.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks Terralua for your help! **

**I should have probably included a note at the beginning that this story is just meant to be me turning a dream I had into an S/T fanfic. I do not have first-hand experience of self-harm of this kind, and I do not claim to know how exactly it should be dealt with. My apologies if this story seems unrealistic or offensive to those who deal with these serious issues. **

* * *

Sybil watches the door at 6:30 the following Monday, but Tom doesn't arrive at the pub the entire night. She feels entirely too let down, considering he is just a friend. But he's her _only_ friend, she reminds herself. Other than Gwen, he is really the only person she knows in this city. It's no wonder she should miss him.

She wonders if she would look too pathetic if she texted him. Probably, but it doesn't stop her. "Missed seeing you today :)," she types, then walks home after her shift ends, feeling rather lonely.

* * *

When he doesn't respond to her text the next day, or arrive at The Ferryman all night either, Sybil begins to worry. It's only natural, isn't it, given his history? What if he's drank himself into a coma? His sister would certainly not think to call her. She doesn't even know Sybil.

She goes home after work, and pulls out her laptop. She felt guilty about taking it, since it was technically bought with her father's money. But she can't get by without the internet, like any young person her age, so in the end it came along. She goes online and googles, "Tom," "journalist," "Dublin."

A page of hits show up, and she scans through. It looks like there's a journalist named Tom Branson who writes for a newsletter called _Saoirse: Irish Freedom_. It sounds terribly serious and political, and she quickly skims a few of his articles. They are well-written and passionate and she understands none of it. She learned very little about Irish history or politics in Uni.

She looks up his phone number next. Luckily, he's listed as "T Branson M Branson," along with an address and phone number. She copies both carefully into his contact information in her phone. Then she looks at the clock.

It's 11 pm. She should probably not call anybody at this time. She doesn't want to seem like a complete stalker.

* * *

Wednesday comes and goes in an anxious daze. Sybil looks at the door every time it opens, and sighs every time someone other than Tom walks in. Maybe she scared him off, making him talk about his past. Surely he wouldn't like someone who forced him to relive his worst memories. She is such an idiot.

Sybil looks around at the rest of the customers. It's the usual mix of old men, lonely singles, tired workaholics still in their suits and ties, and rambunctious teenagers. She feels far older than 23, and something in her chest aches.

An image comes to her of Tom, sprawled out in a dark alley somewhere, drunk and passed out, or bleeding to death. She sucks in a breath, and she suddenly can't stand it another minute.

Calling to Maddy that she's taking five, she hurries outside, and pulls out her cell phone. She first dials Tom, her breath shaky as she listens to the phone ring. Nobody picks up, and she hears an automated message in Tom's voice. It's nice to hear his voice, but does nothing to reassure her. Next she dials the house number, nearly praying his sister will be home and pick up.

The phone rings once, twice, three times, and then someone picks up. "Hello?" It's a woman's voice, and it doesn't sound very old. Tom's sister?

"Hello, is this Meara?" Sybil hopes she is pronouncing it right.

"Yes, who's this?"

"Hi. My name is Sybil Crawley, I'm a- well, I work at the Ferryman. Where your brother Tom comes a lot?"

"I see. Can I help you?"

"Umm, I-… I was just wondering if-... if Tom was around? That is, I couldn't get him on his mobile, and he hasn't been around lately and-… I was a bit worried, to be honest, so I thought I'd call. And check."

"That's nice of you, Sybil. Tom didn't tell me he'd made a friend."

"Oh, well, this is just my second week here. We just met, I suppose. Feels like longer than a week. Is he- is everything alright?"

"Yeah, he's alright. Been feeling a little unwell, but he's alright. I'm sure he'll be around later this week."

"Oh. Is he there? I mean, can I talk to him?"

There's a pause. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Sybil. He's- well, he's not really in a state to talk to anyone."

"Oh, what's happened? Oh god, I feel so bad! He told me about his wife and how he tried to- the last time we spoke, and-oh god, have I upset him so badly? I'm such an idiot!"

"Oh. He told you." Meara sounds surprised. She sighs a bit. "No, well, I don't think that was it, so don't worry. Monday was his wedding anniversary, so."

"Oh."

"Yeah… he usually takes the day off, does his own thing."

"And… yesterday?"

"Uh, he went to work. Came home and watched telly and drank a bit."

"Is he-...is he home right now?"

"Yes. But he's drunk and I don't think you should try talking to him when he's like this. He'd just upset you more."

"Please, Meara. I feel terribly."

She hears a sigh, then, "Alright. Don't say I didn't warn you." Sybil hears footsteps from the other end.

"Tom!" she hears Meara calling her brother. "Call for you. Girl from the bar. Says she wants to talk to you."

Sybil holds her breath as she strains to hear a response, but it must be nonverbal, because the next thing she knows, she hears Tom's voice, a bit more slurred than usual.

"Hi Sybil."

"Tom. I was worried. I haven't seen you for a few days and I thought-… I mean, I was afraid I'd upset you. The last time we met, I mean."

"S'alright, I'm jus' fine."

"Why haven't you come by to the bar, if you were going to be drinking anyway?"

There is silence from the other end.

"Were you-did I- was it because of me?"

"Don't be ridik-reduc- don't be stupid," he says with difficulty. "I wanted to get smashed and it's easier at home, when I don't hafta be walkin' all over the-the bloody place, yeah?"

"Tom…" she feels a few tears spring to her eyes. "Oh, Tom, why must you drink so? I worry so much…"

"Don't. I'm jus' fine. It's not your concern."

"But, I feel-… I want-…"

"Look, Sybil, I told you-"

"Will you come by tomorrow? Please? Just to talk, I promise."

There is a pause from the other end. Then he sighs and says, "Alright. See you. Bye."

There is a click before she can respond.

Sybil goes in and tells Maddy she needs an early night, she has such a headache, and she will work extra tomorrow night.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Am I the only one amazed by how AL manages to look incredibly sexy after running for over 2 hours straight? I found a pic online, and oh my god. Ok, ****I'll stop now.**

* * *

Tom walks in the next day at 6:30 and comes up to her at the bar instead of heading for his usual table. She smiles widely at him but he frowns.

"I don't have to come here every day, you know," he says by way of hello. He seems more tired than usual, and he sits at a stool and looks at her with a bit of irritation.

Sybil looks at him and bites her lip. "I'm sorry. I was just worried. I shouldn't have called, or texted."

"Ah, it's alright." He suddenly sounds a lot less annoyed. "Just gimme a coffee, then."

"Can I make it the normal way?"

Tom looks at her, then down the bar. There are a few guys at the far end, and they are watching their interaction with some interest. They've all tried their luck with the pretty new English bartender, and gotten nowhere.

"Sybil…"

She stands in front of him, and leans her head on her arms so their faces are closer together. "Let me help you," she says, just above a whisper.

"I don't need your help," he retorts.

"Can I get you a cup of tea? Did you have a good day at _Saoirse: Irish Freedom_?"

He stares at her. She smiles brightly and heads into the kitchen, returning a minute later with a cup of warm tea.

He breaks his stare to look at the cup. Sighing, he reaches for the milk and pours it in, stirring lightly. Sybil watches, trying to memorize how he takes his tea. A dash of milk, no sugar. Amazing how being a bartender has made her so much more observant.

"My day was alright," he says finally. He doesn't bother asking how she figured out where he works. "Wrote two articles, edited a third. How was your day?"

"Busy. A little dull. Maddy is sick with a cold, so it got a bit lonely."

He nods. "When are you going to find another job? You can do better than this."

"With my half a nursing degree?"

"With your biology degree from Uni. And yes, you could probably go back to school somewhere here and finish that."

"God, Tom. Don't make my dreams too big. How would I ever pay for it? Certainly not with what I'm making here."

Tom eyes her for another second, then turns away. He finishes his tea, fishes in his pocket for some change, and puts it down near his empty cup.

"Are you leaving?" Sybil sounds disappointed as he stands up.

"When are you done here?"

"In… twenty minutes," she tells him, glancing at her watch.

"Good. Give me your phone."

She hands it to him, bemused. He types in it for a few minutes then hands it back to her.

"Directions. You won't get lost with that. Come over in about an hour. Dinner should be ready by then. Meara's quite a cook, and it's a sight better than eating alone I'm sure."

Sybil beams at him. "Oh, really? You wouldn't mind that? I wouldn't want to intrude."

Tom smiles at her. "Nah, I've gotten rather used to your intruding by now," he tells her with a quick wink. He walks off, tossing a quick goodbye over his shoulder.

Sybil stares at the directions on her phone, feeling her heart pound. God, she is so hopelessly crazy about him.

The guys by the end hail her for more drinks, and she reluctantly puts her phone away.

* * *

Sybil stands in front of her mirror, and tries to brush her hair into some semblance of order. She's already wearing her nicest outfit, a pink knee-length skirt that flares a bit, a black sweater, and heels, and has put on just a bit more make up than usual. All that's left is her hair.

Sybil sighs and stares at it in dissatisfaction. Why couldn't she have had hair that was silky smooth and straight like Mary's, or perhaps tame curls like Edith? She has big curls that will not stay unless with loads of hair spray, which she hates to use. After a few minutes, she settles for brushing it, knowing it will frizz out again with the rain outside anyway.

She grabs her umbrella, and purse, and heads out the door.

* * *

"Did you get the wine?" Meara asks Tom as she comes out of the loo, where she's been putting on her make up. She wasn't best pleased he'd invited company, since she hadn't planned on making much. She spent the last hour cooking, and then took a quick shower while Tom ran out for a couple bottles of wine, saying Sybil was an English girl, and wouldn't appreciate Irish whiskey.

He looks up from where he's setting the table. He's used the nicer dishes, and tried to spruce up the table by adding a vase of flowers. Still, it must be a far cry from the sort of dinner parties Sybil's used to at home. He reminds himself that she wanted to leave just that sort of thing behind. Why does it matter to him what she thinks of his flat anyway?

"Yes. You look nice."

Meara rolls her eyes. She knows he feels guilty for making her work harder tonight, for his sake. She won't admit it to him but she is curious to meet this girl herself. She'd made quite an impression with her phone call the other night.

"You can do the dishes to make up for it, Tommy," she says cheekily, and he rumples her hair as he walks past her to his room. She shrieks, and rushes to fix it in the mirror in the hall.

"You don't have to dress up for her," he tells her when he walks back out a few minutes later. He's removed his black jacket, and his gray sweater, and looks relaxed enough in his black t-shirt and jeans. He runs a finger nervously over the scars on his wrists, and looks up to find her looking at him anxiously.

"Maybe I should put my sweater back on, yeah?" he says, trying to smile at her. Meara brushes a hand over her eyes, and comes over to hug him. Tom puts his arms around her, and takes a deep breath.

She takes a step back after a minute and looks at him. She reaches up to fix his hair and he ducks away from her. He starts to turn to go to his room, when she puts a hand on his shoulder. He looks back at her questioningly.

"You shouldn't have to hide it," she says simply. "If someone really cares about you, they'll love you just the way you are."

Tom smiles at her. "She's hardly in love with me," he points out. "She's just a friend. I don't want to freak her out. More than I already have," he amends.

"I don't think you've done any such thing. Why would she agree to dinner if she wanted nothing more to do with you? Leave it, Tommy, and you'll see for yourself."

Tom runs a hand through his hair, and looks at his wrists again. They've gotten used to the marks, and in all honesty, he's grown to like his scars because they're constant reminders to him to never do it again. But he doesn't want to upset Sybil, who he's grown strangely fond of.

A knock at the door interrupts his musing, and he glances at his bedroom door one last time before he goes to open the door.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: The pic of AL running was on here tumblr dot com/tagged/allen leech. You might have to scroll through a few pages of AL to get to it, but I don't think anyone will mind... **

* * *

Sybil waits nervously after knocking. She tugs at her hair a few more times with little success. The door swings open, and Tom is standing there in a black t-shirt and jeans, smiling.

"Didn't get lost, then?" He steps in and lets her in, closing the door behind her. She smiles and shakes her head no, then steps out of her coat. He reaches to take it and she freezes, as she sees his scars.

Meara has come forward to be introduced but Sybil's eyes are still on Tom's wrists. After a few seconds, she looks back up to find him studying her seriously. She wets her lips, clears her throat, and hands him her coat with a small smile. "Thank you, Tom," she says before turning to Meara.

"You must be Meara. I've heard so much about you," she says, holding out a hand to the girl with a bright smile. Meara raises an eyebrow at her brother.

"Knowing this one, I somehow doubt it," she grins. "It's nice to meet you in person."

Sybil laughs a bit self-consciously. "Uh, right. I'm sorry- about my call the other night. I just-… well, thank you for inviting me for dinner. I hope you didn't go to too much trouble."

"No trouble at all," Meara says, with a wink at Tom. He scowls at her, and Sybil laughs.

* * *

Sybil leans back in her armchair, holding her wine glass in one hand and her stomach with the other.

"I don't think I've eaten that well since I came to Ireland," she sighs, smiling at Meara. She really likes Tom's sister, and either the girl is a very good actress, or she likes her too.

"You must teach me how to make that pie," she adds. "Of course, I'm not much of a cook, but I'm trying to learn," she adds with a bit of a giggle, thinking of her adventures in cooking the past couple weeks in Dublin.

Tom raises an eyebrow at her. "Grew up with a cook and a slew of kitchen maids, did ya?" he asks her lazily from his spot on the couch. Sybil sticks her tongue out at him and he grins.

"Must have been grand," Meara sighs. "All that money and nothing to do, no school, no job." Sybil has not told her a thing about her past, instead talking of her experiences in Dublin during dinner. "Are you here on a tour then? Why are you working in a bar when you've got all that money?"

"Meara, shut it," Tom tells her, getting up to refill his glass. Sybil watches him and bites her lip. Tom sits back down and raises an eyebrow at her, and she realizes she hasn't answered Meara's question.

"Oh. Um, well, no. I actually ran away from home. I-… well, I couldn't stand that life. I want to study, and work, and learn so many things. So, I came here to Dublin. I'm not sorry at all," she adds emphatically. Her eyes drift unconsciously to where Tom is nursing his glass with an expression that is becoming more and more unfocused.

Meara stares at her in shock. Tom doesn't look the slightest bit surprised, and she looks over at him accusingly, but he's not paying her the least attention.

"Oh, um. I'm sorry… I had no idea."

"Oh, it's quite alright. You had no way of knowing," Sybil smiles at her briefly, before her eyes wander back to her brother. Meara's eyes narrow and she watches the girl from over her own glass.

"Tom…" Sybil says quietly after a minute. Meara wonders at how comfortable she seems to be around her brother, and she wonders suddenly if they've been sleeping together. It would certainly explain a lot. Her brother owes her a _lot _of explanations tonight.

Tom looks at Sybil tiredly. His eyes are getting a bit glazed, and she leans forward, and gently pulls his glass out of his hand. He looks up at her, surprised but far too exhausted to say anything. Sybil puts their glasses down and comes to kneel in front of where Tom is slumped on the couch. She puts her hand on his shoulder, and he focuses on her with a bit of difficulty.

It occurs to Meara that her brother is being the worst sort of host, getting drunk when he's got company. Then again, he doesn't seem to regard Sybil as company. And she also works at the bar he goes to every day, it can't be the first time she's seen him like this. She stays unusually quiet, wanting to watch this strange little interaction play out.

"Tired?" Sybil asks him softly. She reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes, and he leans into her touch. "You should head to bed. And I should leave," she adds. "Come on," she stands and pulls him up. He sways unsteadily and puts an arm around her shoulders. Meara watches as Tom mumbles a good night at her, then stumbles towards his room, leaning on Sybil.

Sybil struggles to keep them both upright as they trip down the hall to Tom's bedroom. He is much heavier than her, and when he suddenly sags into her, she's pushed against the wall, gasping in surprise.

Tom leans into her and his other hand comes up to grasp her waist. He looks into her face, and for a second, he focuses on her mouth, red-tinted from wine. Sybil looks up at him, heart pounding. The last thing she wants is for their first kiss together to be when he's so drunk he'll probably have no recollection of it the next day. Then again, she's getting awfully desperate to touch him, and his body, warm and willing against hers, is irresistible.

"Tom," she breathes, and his eyes close. He takes a deep breath, and to her disappointment, pulls himself away from her and continues walking unsteadily down the hall. She follows after a second.

He's crawling into the sheets when she peeks in, and his shirt is on the floor. Her face heats up and she lingers at the door, not trusting herself to walk in.

"C'mere," he says, adorably snuggled up in the dark blue sheets. She hesitantly approaches the bed and he pulls a bare arm out to reach out and touch her face gently.

His fingers stroke her cheek for a moment, and she closes her eyes.

"Sybil…" he whispers. She looks at him, and he removes his hand, reaching out to his nightstand for a photo frame. He picks it up, looks at it for a second, then hands it to her.

Sybil takes the frame and her heart breaks all over again. In it is a photo of a girl in a white sundress, with lovely red hair and a wide smile. One hand is on her stomach, the other reaching out as if the photo was snapped when she was gesturing for the photographer to come join her.

She returns the photo to the nightstand after a minute, and turns to find Tom already asleep. His hair covers his forehead messily, and a few tears stain his cheeks. Sybil thinks of the pregnant woman in the photo, and imagines Tom father to a mischievous little boy, or perhaps a red-haired little girl. It is too heartbreaking for her to imagine the loss that is Tom's daily reality.

She reaches out and smooths the hair away from his face, her fingers gently wiping the tears away. He does not stir. With a last glance at the photo, Sybil leans down slowly and kisses his cheek, then walks out of the room.

She walks back into the front room, looking worn and tired. She gives Meara a small smile, and says, "I should head out too. It's late."

Meara looks at the clock. "It's 9:30. Stay a bit."

Sybil stands awkwardly for a minute, before she nods and sinks into the spot on the couch Tom was sitting in. It's warm with the heat from his body, and she snuggles in comfortably, curling her feet up under her.

"Sybil, do you love my brother?" Meara demands without preamble. Sybil gasps and looks at her. Her cheeks heat up. The other girl looks at her steadily, without malice and without sympathy. She just wants the truth.

"I don't know," Sybil says in a small voice. "I mean, I just got here a few weeks ago. I'm still so… new to everything here. I'm just trying to start a new life for myself. I mean, this time two weeks ago, I was in England, in my satin nightgown, and my maid was brushing my hair. Everything's changed, and it's all so sudden that-... it's hard to be sure of anything."

"That must be rough. I can't even imagine running away from home. Of course with four brothers, I'd probably be caught and hauled back before I made the city limits."

"You're very lucky. Tom is- he seems like a wonderful man. I'm sure he's very good to you," Sybil says earnestly.

Meara snorts. "You wouldn't be saying that if you grew up in a house with four boys, and never a minute's privacy. I used to text my boyfriends from the loo. But I suppose Tom is the most tolerable of them. Are you two sleeping together?"

Sybil gasps again and her face turns red. "No! We aren't together, we really aren't. I mean, we haven't even kissed, I swear."

"Hmm. Well, sorry to jump to conclusions. Tommy's a good-looking bloke, and the ladies have always made complete fools of themselves over him. Tarts," she says matter-of-factly.

"Goodness," Sybil says weakly, unused to both Meara's line of questions, and her language. The thought of other girls throwing themselves at Tom doesn't feel good either.

"Well I hope you don't think-"

"Nah, I wasn't calling you a tart. You're very pretty, of course, but it doesn't look fake. That hair, I mean," Meara jokes good-naturedly, and Sybil self-consciously touches her hair. Meara's own hair is silky and thin, and Sybil pushes a curl behind her ear enviously.

"Do you think Tommy drinks too much?" the questioning continues.

"Yes."

"I don't know how to get him to stop. He never listens to me, I'm just his kid sister."

"How much older is he? He told me you were my age."

"He's 31."

"I think… I think he's still in pain. Over… you know, his wife. And the-the-"

"Suicide attempt. You can say it, we all do."

"Right. Suicide attempt," Sybil says faintly. "And, until he feels alright, he's not going to want to stop drinking."

"He's said it helps him sleep. He passes out 'til like 4:30 then he gets up and writes til 7. When he doesn't drink, he has nightmares."

Sybil brushes her fingers under her eyes quickly. Meara pretends not to notice.

* * *

It is an hour and much more light-hearted conversation later that Sybil leaves. She feels like Meara could be a real friend, and she exchanges phone numbers with her.

"Could I leave a note for Tom?" she asks a bit shyly. Meara rolls her eyes good-naturedly but hands her a notepad and a pen.

"Fair warning, I will be reading every word, so keep it clean," she says with a wink. Sybil blushes.

A few minutes later, she heads out into the rainy night. Meara unfolds the note without the slightest shame. Sybil is a nice girl, but the last thing Meara wants to see is her brother hurt again.

_Tom,_

_I'm sorry your evening was cut short. I enjoyed dinner very much! Thank you for the invitation. Your sister is lovely and I hope to see more of her, and of course you. See you tomorrow at the pub?_

_Sybil_

Meara smiles, then leaving the note on the kitchen table, heads to her room.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews!**

* * *

When she wakes up the next morning, Meara finds Tom typing away from his usual spot on the couch. He looks up and says good morning, and she comes over to see how badly he is hung over.

"I'm alright, Meara. Don't fuss," he tells her, turning back to his laptop.

"Sybil stayed for a while longer last night," Meara tells him, going over to the coffee pot. "She's a sweet girl. Not sure what's she doing hanging around you," she says with a grin. "Left you a note, did you see?"

Tom nods, but does not say anything else. He's either deeply concentrating or deeply trying to avoid this conversation. Meara doesn't care either way. She means to pry well and good before class this morning.

"Will you be stopping by her pub on your way home?" she asks with mock casualness. Tom looks up at her, not fooled in the slightest.

"You're just dying to ask, aren't you? Well, go on then," he says impatiently.

"I'm not dying to ask anything," Meara says smugly. "I don't need to. I've already asked Sybil," she adds with a wink.

"Meara!" Tom protests, dismayed. "Did you scare the poor girl off?"

"Why are you so worried about scaring her off? Fancy her, then?"

Tom thinks of the feeling of Sybil's body against his in the dark hall last night, her red lips inches from his. "No," he says huffily. He doesn't sound like he believes himself.

"At first, I thought you guys might have been shagging," Meara continues. Tom rolls his eyes at her. She has assumed this of every woman he's met more than once since Elaine's death, even if it was by complete random chance.

"But Sybil was far too shocked by the idea. I think she's like a little English rose. Very innocent. I'm not sure she's ever had a boyfriend, properly."

"Good sight different from you then, eh, you little tart?" Tom smirks. He's never been bothered by the men his sister chooses to date. If they'd wanted to marry her, he'd probably have beaten them up.

"She certainly fancies you. Might even fancy a shag," Meara says thoughtfully. Tom looks up, suddenly remembering Andy's comment from last week. His ears turn red as he realizes they were talking about him. He tries to hide his grin, but Meara spots it.

"Looks like you fancy that shag too," she says dryly. Tom chucks a throw pillow at her.

"Don't you find it disgusting to talk about your older brother's sex life? God, Meara," he complains, focusing on his screen again.

"I just want what's best for you. Be that a loving wife or an amazing shag. You deserve it all," Meara smirks.

"Well, Sybil is neither. So feck off about her. And don't talk to her about me like that again. We're just friends and she knows that-"

"Aha! So you've had to fend her off, then. I knew it! She couldn't take her eyes off you-"

"Meara…" Tom groans.

"You've been holding out on me the entire time you've known her! I need details. Come on! Work can wait." She pulls his laptop away from him, and Tom groans again.

"Now. Come and tell me _all _about it," Meara smiles at him winningly, plopping down on to the couch next to him. Tom shoves her away with a grin.

* * *

Tom feels self-conscious as he walks into the Ferryman that evening. Like Meara's pointed questioning has somehow made him question his own actions and intentions. He'd seen Sybil as a friend, a new one, but a good one. Sure, he thought she was quite pretty, and she was sweet and cared about him more than he deserved, but he couldn't encourage her affections. She was just setting them on him because she was lonely and missed her family.

No, he was far too broken for a young girl like her. He was wrapped up in Elaine's memory, and he wouldn't be unfaithful to her by fancying another woman.

He has these thoughts firmly in his mind, half-ready to tell them to Sybil in case she should prove aggressive, when he sees her. She's at a table in the middle of the room, and is carefully setting out drinks. The lads at the table are eyeing her appreciatively, and one says something to her with a laugh. Sybil seems startled, but hurries off without saying anything.

Tom scowls at the men, so when Sybil spots him, he looks his usual surly self. It still makes her smile, and she quickly darts to the kitchen, coming back with two cups of tea just as he is sitting down at a stool.

"Hi, Sybil," he greets with a small smile. He catches sight of the cups in her hand and groans. "God, Sybil, please-"

"Hi, Tom, how was your day?" Sybil asks brightly, ignoring his complaints. She puts the cups down, pours a bit of milk into one, and pushes it towards him. Into hers, she pours more milk, and adds a cube of sugar. Tom sighs but picks up his cup.

"Are you planning on ever serving me alcohol again?"

"Hmm, I'm still thinking about it," Sybil grins.

"I might start getting Maddy to serve me again."

"Like you could," she scoffs, sipping her tea. He watches her, and smiles, thinking she looks like a proper lady doing it, even with her dirty apron, and messy braid.

"I'm very stubborn, in case you haven't realized," she tells him. Tom chuckles.

"I'd realized."

* * *

Tom doesn't even roll his eyes when she walks over with two tea cups the next evening. He's sitting at a table again, because the bar is rather crowded, but Sybil slides in across from him anyway.

"So did you go home and drink last night since you didn't get any from me?" she asks him by way of greeting. Tom raises an eyebrow at her question, and she blushes. If she didn't fancy him so badly, maybe everything she said wouldn't sound suggestive.

"Actually, I didn't. Watched a terrible movie on the telly with Meara instead," he says, shaking his head.

Sybil's smile at him is so delighted that he has to think for a second to realize what he has done to deserve it.

* * *

It becomes their tradition to share a cup of tea together after work each day. At first she asks him if he drank the previous evening, then he starts just telling her he didn't before she asks. One day, he purposefully refrains from volunteering anything, and raises an eyebrow at her when she sips her tea and stays silent.

"Not going to interrogate me about my evening?" he asks finally, giving in to temptation.

Sybil smiles and shakes her head. "I trust you," she says simply. "Don't need to check up every day."

"Am I getting closer to the day you'll serve me alcohol again?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

* * *

Sometimes Tom takes her to dinner. Sybil insists on paying for herself, but when the check comes around, Tom grabs it before she can, and does not let her pay.

They walk around the city, and she starts to learn her way around. Dublin is a richly historical city, and she falls more in love with it every day.

Or maybe it is Tom she falls more in love with every day. When he's not sitting listless and drunk in front of her, he's a charming companion, witty, funny, smart, and of course handsome. Sometimes she thinks she can stare at him endlessly, the way his hair falls into his eyes, the way he moves his hands when he points out things to her, and on one occasion, when he pulled her by the hand as they ran to catch a bus.

Tom finds himself smiling and laughing often when Sybil is around. Sometimes Meara joins them, and she is glad to see the change in her brother. She quietly gives away the alcohol in their flat to her friends, and smiles when she sees Tom put his arm casually around Sybil's shoulders as they head out of the movie theater.

* * *

Tom calls Sybil early one Saturday morning. He's still a morning person even if he isn't getting up at 4:30 anymore. The phone rings three times before she sleepily answers it.

"Sybil, hey? Did I wake you?"

"Yes, but it's okay. What is it?"

"Oh, sorry. Um… I'll just let you get back to sleep, it's alright."

"I'm awake now, we can talk." She gets up and grabs her robe.

"Ok. Well, I was calling so early to find out if you wanted to get breakfast? There's this lovely little café that has the best coffee and croissants, it's not far from where you are? And maybe… maybe we could hang out today? Meara is out of town for the weekend visiting her college mates, so I thought…"

He feels pathetic, calling a girl at 8 in the morning, because he has no friends other than his baby sister. He trails off and waits.

"Sure, that sounds wonderful! You know I don't have plans on weekends when I'm not working. How did you know I wasn't working today though?"

"Oh… uh, well don't you work every other Saturday? And, well, last week you were working, right? I stopped by. So, I just remembered…"

She laughs. "You're right. Nice of you to remember."

He mumbles something and she lets him off the hook. He gives her careful directions which she writes down, and then hangs up.

* * *

Tom is waiting for her when she walks in twenty minutes later. He's sitting at a small cosy table, two cups of coffee already in front of him. When he sees her, he jumps up and runs his hand through his hair, looking incredibly adorable and almost nervous.

"Morning!" she chirps, taking the cup from him gratefully. He smiles at her, smoothing his jacket sleeves over his wrists in what she has come to understand is his nervous tic. She wonders if maybe he was thinking this was a date. In that case, she isn't dressed up at all.

A girl comes over to get their orders, and then there's silence for a brief, awkward moment. Tom looks at her, then back into his coffee.

"Is everything alright?" Sybil asks gently. As much as she'd love this to be a date, she doesn't want him to feel uncomfortable around her.

"Uh, yeah, of course," he says quickly, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Ok. So… Tom, tell me something about yourself that I don't already know." Their food arrives and he fumbles with his napkin, his ears red.

"You pretty much know everything about me," he admits. "Not a very exciting story."

"You must be joking. I know nothing about you before two years ago. What was it like growing up in Ireland, what's it like being a journalist, what's it like with three brothers? I never had a brother, always wished for one though."

"Thank your lucky stars," he laughs, and finally seems to relax. "Made my life a living hell until I was five, and learned to fight back. Nah, in all seriousness, they weren't all that bad. Sean and Aidan are the oldest, twins. Kenneth spent most of his childhood getting into fights with us and the local kids. He plays rugby now, still as violent as ever," he jokes.

"And you? What were you like?"

"I was very-… wait, you tell me. What do you think I was like as a lad?"

"Oh. Ok. Let me see. I think… well, you were adorable, of course. Bright blue eyes, hair flopping into your face, a mischievous smile."

Tom flushes and grimaces at her, clearly thinking she's teasing him. She grins and wishes he knows she isn't.

"I think you were very smart. Probably liked to read a lot. But not weak, you probably got into just as many fights when you were provoked, like your brother. And when Meara was born, I bet you took good care of her, and helped your mum out."

He is definitely red now, and looking like he regretted this idea. "I'm not-… you make me seem like… this perfect little kid. I wasn't. Of course. I mean… I did like to read, and I did get into my share of scrapes. And I pulled Meara's hair an awful lot. She likes to remind me of that every time she brushes it," he smiles.

"I think I should like to see a picture of you from when you were little."

"Meara has a couple family photos at home. Remind her the next time you're over. You won't get them from me. Anyway, enough about me. Why don't I guess what you were like?"

"Sure."

"Well… a rebel, obviously. Probably always climbing trees and getting your clothes dirty and not minding your nanny. You had a nanny, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"So, you probably made her life a complete hell, especially after your two sisters. I'm sure that hair gave her nightmares too," he jokes.

"Getting a little too honest now!"

"Well, tell the truth. It must be an ordeal to deal with it, yeah? Not that it doesn't look beautiful, of course, I didn't mean to say-"

"Oh, stop. You're making it worse," she smiles. "Anything else you can think of about my childhood?"

"Oh. Well, I'm sure you were very smart with your lessons. Quicker to learn than your sisters. They were probably into clothes and… girl things," he waves a hand vaguely. "You never wasted your time on that stuff."

"I _am_ a girl," Sybil points out. Even today, she has her nails painted a dark blue, though it's leftover from last week, and chipping rather badly. "I spent time on my nails and clothes, and yes, definitely plenty of time on my crazy hair. Is that a bad thing?"

"No, of course not. I mean, I just don't see the purpose of it all. Real beauty doesn't come from - "

He picks up her hand, resting on the table, and examines the chipping polish,

"-painted nails, or-or…" he looks around the café for inspiration. She smiles, he is really adorably inexperienced when it comes to women, despite being widowed.

Tom spots a pair of heels dangling off a woman's feet. "High heels."

Further discreet observation reveals a woman in a short dress, and he stares at her legs for a second, his eyebrows raised. Sybil watches him, finding his behavior incredibly cute, and strangely feeling not at all jealous. "Dresses," he says finally, a bit of a distracted look on his face.

He turns back to her, and looks for the first time all morning at her black long-sleeve shirt, which is neither tight nor revealing, but is strangely attractive all the same. Perhaps this was a bad route to take. He wrenches his eyes back up to her face, and finds Sybil smirking at him, as if she can read his thoughts.

"Should we get out of here?" he says abruptly, his ears turning red again.

Sybil picks up her cup and takes a slow sip. "But I'm still not done," she drawls. This conversation, and an adorably flustered Tom is so unusual to see, so healthy for his mind and body, which have been grieving for too long.

"Anyway, you were pretty right, on most counts, about me. I did give my nannies a hard time. They didn't think me quite such a rebel, maybe, but then I ran away, so I'm sure now I'm getting all the insults." She tries and doesn't quite manage a smile.

"You'll go back one day," he tells her softly. "It'll be okay. I promise."

She knows he can't keep that promise, it's not in his power at all, but still the words make her smile.

* * *

**A/N: Had to split this into two chapters, TBC soon.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This story is getting harder and harder to write, Tom has become so complicated, emotionally. Sorry for the delay in updating, here's a long chapter to make up for it. Thank you all for the encouraging reviews, messages, etc, and for your patience! **

**I have never been to the Garden of Remembrance (or Ireland) but apparently it exists, and seemed fitting!**

* * *

They eventually leave the little cafe, and wander through Dublin together. The day is warm, sunny and lazy, and Tom shows her the Garden of Remembrance. He tells her he lost a relative many years ago, in the fight for Ireland's freedom, and that he also comes here to remember Elaine and his child.

They walk through lanes of flowering trees, with boughs dancing over their heads. Tom gallantly holds a branch aside as she walks past, and she giggles to think all the 'gentlemen' she knows who wouldn't have bothered. Small roses are starting to bloom along the walks, and she pauses to kneel and touch one.

Tom pulls out his iPhone, and takes a photo of her. With her large sunglasses, dark hair waving in the breeze, and thoughtful expression, he thinks she looks like an actress from an old movie - beautiful and timeless.

Sybil stands up to find Tom looking at his phone. "Oh, do stop working and put it away! There's so much beauty all around, just look at it!"

Tom starts laughing - her words suspiciously echo his thoughts - and slides his phone back into his pocket.

* * *

Sybil drags him into a boutique after a quick lunch. Tom hasn't been to one in over two years, and tells her so. Together they browse the aisles, full of a relaxed bohemian style that Sybil seems to love.

"It's so different from what I grew up wearing, all pleated skirts and cardigans. I love the scarves and the pretty dresses and the casualness of it," she tells him very seriously. He nods and then rolls his eyes when her back is turned.

Still, he isn't quite as uninterested in fashion as all that, it turns out. When Sybil finds a blue sundress that she falls in love with, he takes it from her hands and marches it over to the counter, pulling out his credit card.

"No, Tom, you don't have to, I can get it... Well, I can't, really, it's far too much but I don't need it-"

"If it makes you happy, and it gets us out of here, which makes me happy," he interrupts, gesturing at the girl behind the counter to ring him up.

She laughs and thanks him as he hands her the bag and leads her out the door.

* * *

They are sitting in Sybil's flat, at the end of a day spent entirely together. Secretly, they both think it's the best day they've had in a long time, but neither is brave enough to say it out loud. Tom and Sybil are both on the small couch, sitting rather closer than they might have sat a few months ago, but she wouldn't point it out for the world. Tom yawns as the program on the telly winds down, and pulls Sybil's wrist out to glance at her watch.

She wishes she didn't feel heat race across her skin every time he touches her. It would make being his friend a whole lot easier if she wasn't so desperate to kiss him.

"10:15. I should go, Syb," he says through another yawn. He doesn't sleep as well since he's quit drinking, though the nightmares are much less frequent, so he usually gets tired early.

"Don't go," she says plaintively, putting her arms around him as he leans back into her couch. Her hand drags down his chest and his breath catches in his throat for a second.

"I'm likely to fall asleep if I stay here."

"That's okay, you can sleep on the couch."

"It's hardly big enough," he protests half-heartedly, but her warm embrace is enticing and he shifts to get a bit more comfortable. Sybil rests her head on his shoulder, her arms still draped around him, and tucks her feet under her.

Her hair tickles his nose, and he moves it. His fingers tangle in the thick strands, and they brush silkily against his fingertips. Tom slowly moves his hand back, fingers brushing her soft cheek. Sybil breathes warm and content against his body and he looks down at her. After a minute she tilts her head back up to look at him.

His eyes melt her. Still so much sadness, deep down in the blue depths. Sybil reaches up and presses a lingering kiss against his cheek. When he doesn't stop her, she brushes another near the corner of his mouth.

Tom sighs. "Sybil…"

"Shh…," her lips are barely touching his, and her warm breath drifts over his face. Tom thinks of Elaine, the baby. He does not make a move to extricate himself. Sybil lingers for another half second, then kisses him on the mouth.

Her lips are soft and sweet, like the ice cream they've just been eating. She waits for him to react, her lips lightly grazing his. Then Tom leans in to press his mouth to hers more firmly, giving in to her with a half sigh, and she feels tears spring to her eyes.

* * *

Tom's kiss is hesitant and tender and far too tentative for Sybil. She wants him badly, and she can't stop herself from sliding onto his lap as he continues to kiss her gently. He breaks away at her movement, maybe she's been too bold?

When he doesn't lean in to kiss her again, she feels a bit worried. She must be a terrible kisser, what experience does she have really? She's probably messed it all up now.

Tom doesn't seem to be paying much attention to her worries. He's looking at her curled up on his lap, and he slowly pulls his hands away from her face to run across her back. Sybil presses a soft kiss against his neck and his hands tighten around her. He leans his forehead against her shoulder, and she feels his sigh ruffle her hair.

Sybil runs her fingers through his hair as they sit in silence. He's clutching her tightly, and she feels like she would be interrupting whatever he's going through if she tries to move back and kiss him again. She promised herself she would give him time, and besides, his hug is warm and comforting, so she's hardly complaining.

Finally, he pulls back and looks up at her. There are tears in his eyes, and her heart sinks. He's thinking of her again. Isn't it enough he has a living girl who's madly in love with him in his arms?

"What's wrong?"

Tom says nothing, and moves her back on to the couch next to him, his hands unwinding from around her and leaving her body completely. She tenderly runs a hand down his cheek and he flinches.

"Darling, please-"

"I can't. I'm sorry," he chokes, burying his face in his hands.

"Did I do something wrong? I don't understand."

"I'm sorry, Sybil. I shouldn't have-… I'm just not ready for this. Not yet." He stands and pulls his jacket over his shoulders, his hands coming to smooth the edges over the scars on his wrists. It breaks her heart, and she quickly stands up to hug him.

"Darling, please, let me help you," she pleads, a few tears tracking down her cheeks. "I love you. I just want you to be happy again."

He holds her tightly, tears dripping into her hair. He can't deny it feels good to be loved, to be touched, but he doesn't deserve such happiness again. His heart is dead and buried with his wife and unborn child, and there's no point in fighting it. He might have been in the same car. Should have been.

He pulls away several minutes later, and wipes his eyes with his hand. Sybil is looking at him with her heart in her eyes, and he feels endlessly guilty for making her already complicated life a touch harder.

"Can you ever forgive me?" he asks her. He despises himself.

"Don't apologize. I just wish there was some way I could help you." She takes his hand again, laces their fingers, and brings his hand up to kiss his knuckles before holding it against her cheek.

"Give me time?" he whispers, staring at their linked hands on her soft skin.

"As much as you need," she promises.

* * *

Sybil throws herself onto her bed the moment the door closes behind him. Her heart feels utterly broken, despite her assurances to Tom, and for the first time, she considers going home.

She picks up her phone, and flips through the contacts. The phone rings, before an impatient female voice answers with a crisp English accent.

"Who's this?"

"Mary… it's Sybil."

"Sybil! Darling! Where are you? Where have you _been_?!"

"I'm fine, Mary. I'm in Dublin, Ireland. I'm working in a bar. It's perfectly respectable, I've got a little flat, and I'm fine, honestly," she says even as her voice trembles from choking back tears.

"You don't sound fine. Why didn't you take your cell phone? You haven't answered your email either. We were so worried!"

"Mary, you know what they were planning, if I'd stayed! Ugh, I'd have been married to that-that-"

"Larry Grey? He ran off to America with some French tart, about a month after you left. Is that why you left? Oh, Sybil, you child!"

"Don't, Mary. I didn't have a choice, I had to leave. And besides, I've been ever so much _happier_ here-" she chokes off as her present grief catches up to her and she sobs a little.

"Like I said, you don't sound _happy_," Mary says crisply. "Why are you crying? Why are you calling only now? What happened, are you in trouble?"

"You could say that. Oh, it's not like what you're thinking," she adds impatiently. "I'm not pregnant, or broke, or been raped, or anything. I'm perfectly fine. Only, well, there's this man and-"

"Sybil, I absolutely forbid you to go around falling in love with strange Irish men! You know Mama and Papa would never allow it, and besides-"

"They can't stop me any more, Mary! I thought the running away made that part obvious? I'm an adult now, I'll make my own decisions!

"I'm not sure what Ireland has done to my little sister. This certainly isn't the Sybil I used to know."

"Well, I've grown up then. Grown up, and realized I have to live the life _I _want. And what I want is to live in Dublin, and be a nurse, and marry Tom!"

"Nursing? Again? I thought you dropped that."

"_No_, Papa and Mama dropped it. I'm saving up money, I'll go back to school eventually. And then I'll be a nurse here in Dublin. I love Ireland, Mary, it's perfectly lovely and-"

"And who the fuck is _Tom_?"

"Mary!"

"Well, excuse me, but you sound on the verge of doing something rather stupid. Who is this person and what has he done?"

"Nothing! Oh, absolutely nothing, and yet I'm madly in love with him! It's terrible, Mary, I don't know what to do."

"You've lost me. Start at the beginning."

So Sybil does, starting from that first time she saw him slink into her bar, up til the conversation that sent her reaching for her sister's number.

"So, you see, I just don't know how to help him, how to make him love me. I know he could, if he'd only let himself, he's a wonderful man, Mary. You'd like him, I'm sure of it."

"I doubt it, if he's Irish, a drunk, and a widower. How do you pick them so well?" her sister retorts exasperatedly. "And why do you suppose I'm going to help you? You may be my baby sister, but someone has to stop you from throwing your life away on Dublin and nursing and _Tom_."

"Mary, don't say that. I need you on my side. I don't know why I called, honestly, I guess I just felt like I needed to not feel like the only person in my life had just rejected me."

"Darling, he's not the only person in your life. You've still got all of us, or you would have if you hadn't disappeared off the face of the earth. Do you know how worried we've all been? We thought you'd been kidnapped, or murdered, or dead somewhere. Papa sent the police searching every corner of the country, but of course, you left England. Nobody suspected you would."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll come home and make up for all of it, I promise, just-"

"Just what?"

"Just help me with Tom."

"Absolutely not!"

"Please, Mary!"

"I'm not going to help you shag a random stranger who's probably going to leave you the moment things get tough."

"You don't _know _him, if only you did, you'd see that he's- he's perfect for me! Look, why don't you come here, for a visit, see me, my new life, and meet Tom? Then if you think that I'm being foolish, you can take me home with you."

"I know I'm going to think you're being foolish."

"But if you don't, you have to help me to be happy here. Support me when I tell our parents about nursing and Ireland and Tom. And help me figure out how to help Tom."

"I'm not promising _anything_. I'm not quite sure I have to either, the way you've thrown us all away. Don't you love us at all, Sybil?"

"I said I was sorry! What else do you want from me?"

"Honestly, for you to just pack up and come home now, and forget all this nonsense. I'm going to tell everyone the moment I hang up, you know. Don't be sure Papa won't come flying in tonight to haul you back home."

"Mary, please!"

"Look, Sybil, I've got to go. Matthew is calling. I'll email you."

"Ok… bye. I love you. I'll answer your email, I promise."

"Thank god for that at least. Ok, bye."

* * *

Meara walks in to the flat, dropping her overnight bag down with a thud. The front room is dark, and she thinks Tom must be out still, likely with Sybil. She flicks on the light, and finds him asleep on the couch. He is wearing his sleep clothes, and he is unshaven, his hair falling untidily over his face as he sleeps restlessly. There is a bottle of whiskey on the table, and she groans, hurrying forward to pick it up.

To her surprise, it's unopened. With a small sigh, she picks it up and walks to her room to hide it in her closet. When she comes back to the front room after changing, Tom is awake. Meara lifts his legs and settles herself next to him, pulling his legs on to her lap. He focuses on her, his eyes red and tired.

"Should I not have left?" she asks worriedly.

"I'm fine," he says unconvincingly. Meara rubs his feet gently. "Really. I spent all day Saturday with Sybil."

"And today?"

"I stayed in."

"Did you eat? I can see you haven't showered," she teases.

"Had an omelet this morning. Can't remember what I had after that," he admits tiredly.

"Are you hungover? Why was there whisky on the table?"

"I bought it Saturday night, but I didn't drink it. Didn't seem right."

"Why, what happened with Sybil?"

There is silence for a long while. Meara gets up and puts together a peanut butter sandwich, then returns to the couch, handing the plate to Tom. He stares at the sandwich, looking especially lost. She hasn't seen this kind of pain in his eyes in a long time.

"She kissed me," he says finally. "And said she loved me."

Inwardly, Meara is ecstatic, but she can see from her brother's face that he is the exact opposite. So she only nods. He picks up the sandwich and takes a bite.

"She's just lonely for her family, she doesn't belong here. She doesn't really-"

"Give the girl some credit, Tommy, she's known you awhile now, she understands you somewhat. If she says she loves you, I would believe it."

"But even supposing that were true, she deserves better than me."

"I don't know a better man than you. Don't tell Kenneth, of course."

"Aw, shut it. I'm serious. I'm old, and I'm widowed and a fucking mess, honestly-"

"No, you shut up. I'm tired of you blaming yourself for everything, for thinking it's your fault life turned out the way it did for you. Elaine's accident wasn't your fault, and neither is what you almost did after. Sybil or any woman would love you because you're lovely, kind and _wonderful_. Sybil is a great girl, but she's _lucky_ to have the chance to love you. And you deserve her love, you deserve a second chance at life, you deserve another child to love. Look at me, Tommy."

He reluctantly does, and she reaches out to brush a tear away from his cheek.

"We just want you to be happy, me and Kenneth and the twins and Sybil. It's not wrong for us to want that, is it?"

"No..."

"Don't _you_ want to be happy?"

"I suppose."

"Do you like Sybil at all?"

"Of course, she's my best friend right now."

"What was it like to kiss her? Good?"

"I barely kissed her. It was pretty short. Sweet, I guess. She's very sweet." He sighs. "She needs someone who would give her a fair chance."

"Life isn't fair. Just because you do what you think is the right thing, and leave her to love someone _better_, doesn't necessarily mean she will. She could end up with some total idiot who'd hurt her. Would you want that?"

Tom remembers Larry Grey. "She almost did. Of course I wouldn't want that. I care for her."

"What about if she dated another man, someone nice and rich and handsome? Would you dance at her wedding, or sit here drinking in the dark?"

He scowls. "I don't want that either."

"Should she date Kenneth?"

"Bloody hell, Meara, I thought you were trying to help."

"I am. I'm just pointing out that if you don't want someone else to date her, you should date her yourself. No one's asking you to marry her just yet."

"I couldn't lead her on like that."

"Tom, people don't only date to get married. Sometimes they just want some happiness, a little love. If you think what you have with Sybil is more serious, that's fine of course. You're allowed to love again, even to get married again."

"You think I should date her then."

"Hell yes. She's a lovely girl, you won't find better any time soon. Tom, sorry, I'm exhausted, I'm going to bed. Good night. Don't stay up too late."

She stands up, ruffles his hair, and kisses his head on her way to her room.

Tom sighs again, and puts the empty plate on the floor. He curls into the couch, and flicks the remote at the tv, letting the random images and noises wash over him.

He closes his eyes, and thinks of Sybil. She is so beautiful, pure and innocent and kind to care about him so. She is so different from Elaine, who was funny and carefree, the love of his careless youth.

He doesn't think she'd ever seen him cry, in all their time together. She wasn't good with serious situations, she ran from conflict and wasn't mature enough to face the worst parts of life holding his hand. Elaine had been wild and passionate and warm, but he knows if she'd been in Sybil's place, she wouldn't have come near him. Sadness and pain scared her. Tom had sobered her up a bit, but she was mostly still light-hearted, and though she'd made him happy while she was around, her memory hadn't been enough to keep him so.

He gets up and fishes his iPhone out of his jacket pocket. There's a text from Sybil, a self-photo of herself in the blue dress he bought her, with a smiley face and "Thank you again, I love it!" It makes him smile, and he takes in her lovely curling hair, and pale skin, the body he now knows to be warm and willing, her long legs. Has he ever seen her in a dress? He wishes suddenly she'd worn it when he was around.

It's 11:25. He curls back up on the couch, and flips through his photos until he finds one of him and Elaine. He looks so young, bright-eyed and carefree. When was the last time he felt like that? He thinks of Sybil, their almost-date, the times they have spent together. She has become truly special to him, he has to admit. He might not get swept off his feet like he had when he was younger, but her caring and sweet manner has charmed him. Maybe love isn't only pounding hearts and unsteady hands, adrenaline and alcohol fueled passion, and racing the wind in cars that were driven too recklessly fast. Maybe it could be steady and comforting, warm and reassuring and _safe_. If Elaine was a candle flickering crazily in the wind, Sybil is a flame, reliable and inextinguishable.

His life with Elaine had been a whirlwind of danger and delight, and it had gotten her killed. He'd been as far away as it was possible to get from her car when she'd gotten herself into that accident, but his hands were just as bloody. He had tried to escape the pain and guilt of their actions, but his sister had forced him to live, to face it every single day. Sybil is the kind of peace he isn't quite sure he deserves again.

Exhausted by his thoughts, he types out a quick, "Looks lovely!" then heads to his room to crash on his bed.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I admit, I wasn't writing this chapter at all. Randomly went online today and saw the new pics of Allen (from Centrepoint UK's twitter), and felt inspired again. **

* * *

The next time Tom walks into the Ferryman, it is almost a week later. He makes no excuses for his absence, and she does not ask. She meets him at the entrance and pulls him by the arm to a table in a corner, where he sees a brunette woman seated. She turns to look at him as they approach, and he's struck by how similar she looks to Sybil.

"Tom, this is my oldest sister, Mary. Mary, this is Tom Branson, my friend."

"Pleased to meet you," he says calmly, though inside he's anything but. Why is she here? How did she find Sybil? Now that he's just coming to realize his feelings, has she come to take Sybil away?

"Charmed," Mary says dryly, shaking his hand briefly before returning her hand to her lap. She's seated primly, and is regarding the pub with an air of disgust. Tom wonders how she can possibly be related to Sybil.

"Tom, Mary's just here for a short visit. I called her last week, and she flew in to see me. I thought we could all hang out for a bit after I get off here, if you don't have plans?"

He looks at her hesitantly, wondering where all this is coming from. He highly doubts Mary would approve of him, as a friend or more, and he cannot see the point in pushing them at each other.

Sybil seems to sense his hesitation, because she squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. Tom sees Mary's perfectly arched eyebrows rise at the touch, and he reluctantly nods at her sister. This is going to be a long evening.

* * *

Sybil brushes her teeth with precise, painful strokes, taking out her anger on her poor teeth. The evening had not gone well - Mary was sharp and sarcastic, and Tom had retreated even further, appearing quiet and intensely uncomfortable. He had gone to dinner with the sisters, an affair which grew progressively more and more upsetting to Sybil, as she watched her sister make no effort to get to know the man she knew Sybil loved. Poor Tom had done his best, but he was just starting to open up, he certainly didn't know how to react to Mary's pointed questioning.

Mary is sitting on the threadbare couch when Sybil walks back in, her critical gaze on the old TV set, the worn rugs and the stained coffee table. She's clearly come on a whim, but what she's found hasn't changed her mind. Sybil had thought she was going to have a heart attack as she'd watched Sybil tend to drunk and rowdy customers at the pub.

"When are you going to forget all this nonsense and come home? You asked me to come, and I have. I saw your life, your "flat," and the man who apparently loves you. I confess I can't find much to recommend in any of them."

"That's because you never gave him a chance! Alright, I understand about the job and the flat, that was never going to be permanent anyway, but Tom? Why did you have to be so snobby and rude to him? He's just getting over his grief, and-"

"Sybil, darling, goodness, don't yell. When did you become so rude? As for Tom, I believe I gave him a fair chance. If he's a part of our world, he'll need to be a lot stronger than that. Imagine the kind of reception he'd get from Papa, or Granny. You think _I_ was cold."

"Well, he wouldn't be meeting them until he was sure enough of his feelings for me, would he? I told you I'm trying not to scare him away, that he's still struggling to love me, and you pretty much told him to get the hell away from me! It'll be a wonder if he wants anything to do with me now!"

She drops to the couch and buries her face in her hands miserably. This had been such a stupid idea on her part.

Mary shifts to lay a hand on her shoulder. She does love her sister very much, and she only wants what's best for her.

"Come now, darling, he didn't seem to be _that_ pathetic. I'm sure he'll come around. And here is one thing for you: he's quite handsome."

Sybil looks at her incredulously, then starts laughing. Of all the things for her sister to say!

"I'm serious! I may not have heard him talk much, but he can look good being silent. Very important quality in a man marrying into our family."

Sybil blushes at the idea of marrying him, and Mary rolls her eyes. "Also, he's got quite a solid career. So I'm sure he'd not be very poor."

Her sister is making an effort, she knows, though her compliments sound so like insults. Sybil smiles, and sits up.

"Um... Well, he's also nice. He paid for our dinner, right?"

"Yes, he always pays. I haven't been able to get him to let me pay for myself. Did I show you the dress he bought me?" She hurries to get the blue dress, which Mary touches approvingly. "We should go shopping, Mary, the fashions here are simply brilliant!"

"We shall, tomorrow? Do you have to work? It's dreadfully boring for me."

"You can use my laptop. We have free wireless."

"Oh, alright. Will you be inviting Tom?"

"I can't _invite_ him, it's a pub, he just comes as he pleases."

"Well, will he be coming then?"

"I hope so. Hopefully tonight didn't scare him off too badly."

"Like I said, I think he's made of stronger stuff than that."

* * *

The next evening, Tom hesitantly opens the door to the Ferryman. It seems odd to not stop by on his way home, but he's dreading seeing Sybil's sister again. When he sees Mary seated at a table in front of Sybil's laptop, he frowns, and glances around. He spots Sybil as she walks out of the kitchen, and watches her come up to him and greet him happily.

"I was afraid you weren't going to show. Sorry about yesterday," she explains, lingering with him near the door. He shrugs lightly.

"Mary and I are going shopping after I get off here. Don't worry, we're not dragging you," she says hastily, and he laughs. Mary looks up and watches them chat for another minute, both smiling and standing rather close for "just friends," then they both come join her at her table.

"Evening," he nods at her, and Mary forces a quick smile. "Mind if I take a seat?"

He seems more conversational today, so she gestures at the empty chair. He sits and Sybil runs off, saying something about tea.

"Have you been here all day?"

"Yes, I'm dying of boredom."

"Ah, you should explore Dublin. It's a lovely city. Sybil can tell you the best places."

"I'm likely to get lost, or mugged, I think."

"It's not that unsafe, in most neighborhoods, during the day. No worse than London."

"Have you been to London?"

"Once or twice, on business. It's a nice city."

"Would you ever leave Ireland permanently?"

"No. My family is here, my friends, my work. I don't think I could leave."

"Sybil doesn't want to leave either. Does that have anything to do with you?"

Tom's cheeks turn red, but his answer is interrupted by Sybil, returning with tea.

"OK, I got permission to leave after we're done here, so here's tea. Tom, how was your day?"

"Good, typical, yours?"

"Very busy looking, I don't know how she does it. She's lost about ten pounds since she came here, looks like," Mary comments.

"I have not," Sybil protests, looking down at herself. "Have I, Tom, you've known me since day two."

"Eh..." Tom glances at Mary before cautiously eyeing Sybil, taking care to keep his scrutiny polite and decent. He doesn't want Mary thinking he's a sleaze. Sybil appears to be much the same as she's always been, though he notices she's wearing the blue dress he bought her underneath a denim jacket.

"You look the same. You're wearing the dress," he grins at her. She smiles back.

"Take off your apron and jacket, let me see what I spent good money on," he teases. Sybil blushes and does as he asks, standing up and twirling around for his benefit. Tom's eyes drag from her sandaled feet to her messy hair, then return to her face. She's biting her lip, her eyes curious and shy, and he winks at her.

Mary clears her throat and Tom jumps, as if he's forgotten she's there

"You look lovely,**" **he says sincerely, running a hand through his hair as his cheeks turn red again. Mary rolls her eyes, but Tom and Sybil are too busy smiling at each other to notice.

* * *

Mary insists they not spend her whole visit with Tom, so Sybil shows her around Dublin, takes her shopping and to the theater, and to visit Gwen. On her last evening though, Sybil invites Tom and Meara and, to Mary's complete astonishment, manages to pull together a very tasty dinner for the group. Tom brings dessert, but there is no wine at the table.

Mary looks around at the neatly laid table, with its clean but cheap dishes and simple fare. Meara doesn't notice – she's already decided Sybil's sister is uppity and a lot less polite than Sybil, and doesn't waste much time conversing with her. Sybil is much too used to Mary's attitudes to question her sister's distaste of her simple "dinner party." Tom, though, seems bothered.

He watches Mary take a sip of water, feeling like it's all his fault somehow – how this life Sybil is living is so far from what her sister wants for her.

"I hope it's okay there's no wine," he says, breaking into the sudden silence. Sybil looks at him with confusion, but he's looking at Mary a bit apologetically. "I suspect it's on my behalf," he says honestly.

Mary looks taken aback that he's addressing her at all, and that he's taking any responsibility at all. From what Sybil has told her, she's assumed it was her sister who rescued this man, that he'd been bent on destroying himself. She has no respect for people who don't respect themselves. But though Tom has a bit of a sheepish look on his face, he looks her straight in the eye, doesn't try to hide it.

"It's not your fault," Sybil breaks in gently, patting his hand where it rests on the table near hers. Tom doesn't look at her. Mary shifts uncomfortably, almost feeling like he's waiting for her to say something, accept or reject him in a way she's not prepared to. She came here to save her sister from making a mistake, not to hurt a man who's already down. It is nothing to her what he does with his life, and she refuses to care even a bit.

But the words, rude and dismissive, on the tip of her tongue, won't come. She looks at Tom's eyes, vulnerable and open, like he's letting her see his darkest secrets, ready for her to shoot him down. She has no idea why he'd put himself before her like this, until it occurs to her he wants her approval, her acceptance, for Sybil's sake. In an instant, she sees he's every bit as unsure and hesitant about this relationship as she is – that he has the same fears and doubts she has been trying to plant in Sybil's mind all week. Maybe it means something to him, that she approves of him, that she gives him permission to love her sister.

"It's quite alright," she says instead. "I think…" she grits her teeth but she can't _not_ say it, "I think if it's what's right for you at this time, you don't have to apologize for it."

There is complete, awkward silence, and Mary rolls her eyes as Sybil stares at her, mouth open. What has she done really, it's not like she told him it was alright for him to marry her baby sister. She simply showed she cared about his struggles, just the slightest bit. She'd caved, alright, but it wasn't a crime to show compassion, to admit someone had melted the icy exterior she always kept around herself – just a little bit. Matthew was always telling her to show the world how kind she really was on the inside, wasn't he?

"I'll get dessert," Meara hops up from the table, breaking the moment. Mary pretends not to notice when Tom looks at Sybil and her sister beams at him, squeezing his hand.

* * *

"Sybil, I think you should come home for awhile. No, listen to me, I'm not saying permanently. I just think you should have a chance to live your old life for a couple months, decide if it's really so horrible as to leave it all behind like this."

Sybil frowns at her sister, who's pulling her Louis Vuitton suitcase along as she strides down the airport corridor. Mary's heels click emphatically on the floor and her hair falls perfectly around her shoulders. Sybil glances down at her dirty shoes, self-consciously smooths some of her unruly hair back into its ponytail. Mary always was so confident, so perfectly together, and Sybil still idolizes her a bit. But for once, she doesn't think her oldest sister knows what's best.

"I'll think about it," is all she'll say. Mary sniffs, and they walk down the rest of the way to her gate in silence. It feels strange to send her sister back home, but in a way, it's liberating, to know she can go back to her life, and not have someone constantly judging her every move. She's gotten used to her independence here, working, spending time by herself, cooking, her relationship with Tom, whatever it may or may not be. She can't go back to being surrounded by servants, to being constantly dressed up and scrutinized, and told what to do. She knows she can never go back, not the way Mary wants her to.

Mary turns to give her a hug, and holds on for a moment. When she pulls away, she looks slightly less perfectly arranged than usual. Sybil watches as Mary carefully wipes her eyes, making sure her makeup doesn't get spoiled. They are so different, the two of them, but that's starting to be okay with Sybil.

"You know I don't approve of your job, Sybil. I can't pretend I'm ecstatic about you working in a bar with all these drunk men all around."

"I know. It's not permanent."

"Dublin isn't a bad city. Not like London though, I'll never get used to all the accents, but I suppose as far as cities go, you could do worse. Not like you'd run off to America or something."

"I'm sure America is perfectly lovely. Is this your way of saying you're okay with me living in Ireland?" Sybil grins. Mary smiles reluctantly at her.

"Maybe you should go to that school Meara goes to, finish up your nursing degree. Make something of yourself, because you're so much more than what you're doing right now."

"I know that, Mary, but I hardly have enough money saved up to put myself through any course. And I won't ask Papa."

"Maybe you could get a scholarship."

"Maybe." Sybil continues to look at her sister hopefully. She's already passed her judgments on her job, and her new home, all that's left is Tom.

"Don't look at me like that, Sybil. I'm not going to say what you want to hear."

"Why not?"

Mary sighs. "You want me to say I think Tom is perfect, that's he perfect for you, that I give you permission to date him and marry him and live here in Dublin forever."

Sybil nods eagerly.

"You know I can't say that, and really mean it, darling. Tom is the farthest thing from perfect – he's got a messy past, he's got a hard road still ahead of him, and just having a nice apartment or job or even a handsome face can't make up for any of that."

"But why does he have to be perfect? No one's perfect, not even Matthew!"

"He's a lot more together than Tom, that's for sure."

"Well, I love him just the way he is. I don't need him to be perfect. He's trying so hard to be better, I know you see that."

"Yes, you may have inspired him to clean himself up a bit," Mary admits.

"And he's lovely, isn't he? Other than all that? He's so generous, so funny, so charming. He's always telling me to go back to uni, did you know that? He's always looking out for me here, making sure I don't do anything stupid, I don't get hurt. I know he loves me, he just doesn't realize it yet, I'm sure of it, Mary."

"I can't help fearing he's going to break your heart. You're too naïve, you just _want_ things, and you think if you wish for it hard enough, it'll come true the way you want. What if things don't work out, what if he goes back to just how he was, and doesn't love you? Or what if he does, for awhile, and then something goes wrong? What will you do here, all by yourself, if he's not around?"

Sybil's eyes fill with tears and Mary sighs. "Come now, don't cry. I don't mean to upset you. I just think you should be prepared for whatever may happen."

"But you don't think like that with Matthew, do you? You don't wonder what would happen if he were killed in a car accident tomorrow, do you? You don't try to imagine that, because it hurts too much, because if that happens, you just have to handle it. But I can't not love him, because I'm too afraid something bad may happen, can I? I have to try to make it work, and yes, he has to work hard too. Because it might just be something _wonderful_. And we'll never know unless we try. I don't care what you think, Mary, I really believe we could have something special, and I'm not willing to throw it all away out of fear."

Sybil nods emphatically, crossing her arms and standing up straight. Mary looks at her for a second, wondering when her little sister grew up. She's reluctantly proud of her. Mary gives her another hug, then reaches for her suitcase, starts walking to the gate.

"Alright then, Sybil. You've made your choice. I hope it works out for you. For you _both_. And I won't tell Mama or Papa about him, not until you're ready to bring him home, and tell them yourself. Don't do anything stupid with him though, you'll have no sympathy from them if you come back pregnant or something."

"Does coming back married count as something stupid?" Sybil teases. Mary laughs, waves at her sister, then walks through the gate to her plane.


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry for the delay, I was on vacation. Thanks for all the messages/reviews!**

**I don't think I write romance very well, I always feel cheesy doing it, so I tried to leave it subtle. Hopefully it turned out alright.**

**Also, I'm thinking two more chapters to this story, so if you have any Tom/Sybil moments you'd love to see, tell me now!**

* * *

A week passes, then two. Life seems to go on much the same as always. Sybil continues to work at The Ferryman. There is a new bartender now, Eddie, and though Tom points out with a grin that the boy is rather taken with Sybil, she does not give him a second thought. She spends most of her day looking at the clock on the far wall, waiting for Tom to walk in. She has no idea he spends most of his day staring at his laptop background, which is the photo of Sybil he took at the Garden of Remembrance. He still can't figure out why Meara let that one go without comment.

Meara starts dating a boy from her class, and Tom finds life a bit lonelier than usual. He can't spend all night at a bar, though most days he stays until Sybil's shift is up, walks her home and then heads home himself. He hates himself a bit for not being happier for his younger sister, who seems to really like this one.

"He's a total idiot," Tom tells Sybil rather moodily one evening as she wipes the counter in front of him. Garrett is far from an idiot, he's currently getting his PhD, and Sybil knows this. "I don't like him."

"You're just lonely because Meara's always off with him now," Sybil says sympathetically. "She has a right to be happy, you know."

"I know. I just wish she didn't have to date him. They could just be friends. I could use a new friend. Now whenever she brings him over, I have to make myself scarce or risk losing my lunch over the way he looks at her."

Sybil giggles. "I'm sure he's not that bad. Meara seems very taken with him. And why do you need a new friend, mister? Getting bored with little old me?"

"No… but you've just got to be a little predictable," he winks. "I mean, I find you here every night. Where's the mystery in that?"

"Mystery."

"Yeah, adventure. Romance. You know."

"Are you saying you want more adventure and romance in your life? Because that could be arranged."

"Yes,_ please_."

"It sounds to me like you're asking me to court you, Mr. Branson."

"Seems rather backwards."

"Maybe. If we lived in the 18th century or something. Women have equal rights now, they can propose to a man if they wanted."

"Hey, no one's proposing, alright? I thought we were talking about dating anyway."

"Right, I was going to court you."

"Stop saying that, it sounds ridiculous."

"Don't you like all that old-fashioned stuff? You can be my lady and I can be your ever so handsome knight."

"No, thanks. I will, however, go to a football match if you can score tickets."

"Is that an invitation?"

"I haven't got tickets."

"Don't worry, you can count on your knight in shining armor for things like that."

* * *

Sybil gets tickets to the football match, then a week later, to a show at the theater that she's read good reviews for, then a pop concert which Tom rolls his eyes at but allows her to drag him to anyway. He knows she doesn't have any money saved up and he doesn't quite like her spending so much on him, but he lets her. It seems to make Sybil very happy to be able to spend money on him, and it does feel nice to be treated so well.

She produces a pair of tickets to a basketball game the next time he sees her, and he smiles.

"You've got to stop spending all this money on me, Syb. I know you haven't got much, with what you make here."

"Courting is expensive work, what can I do? Besides, Mary wrote me a check before she left. She seemed to think I was starving or something. Don't worry, please."

"Still. I can't keep letting you pay for everything. I'm more than capable of paying my own way."

"I know. I just like to be able to do something for you. You're always there for me, and you've paid for every dinner and drink we've ever had together."

"All the same, while I appreciate it, really I do, I'd prefer if you'd get the tickets, and let me pay for them."

"Because I'm a girl?"

"No, because I want you to save that money for school."

* * *

"I had no idea you were such a basketball fan, Tom," Sybil comments as they head out from the game.

"Surprise?"

She laughs. "Do you want to go for a walk before we head back? It's not too late, is it?"

"Yeah, we can."

Sybil smiles and wraps her hands around the arm of his jacket. Tom shoves his hands in his pockets and they pick a direction and start walking.

"I never did say thank you, did I? For doing all this for me."

"If you're going to start talking about the tickets again-"

"No, not that. Well, not just that. I meant everything. Befriending me, helping me to see that I was destroying my life,… being there for me when I was struggling to find a reason to live. It means more than I can say."

"It goes both ways, doesn't it? You're the best friend I've ever had, other than my sisters. I'm so incredibly glad to have come here, to have met you."

Tom stops walking and looks down at her without saying anything. Sybil's hair shines in the streetlight, but her eyes as they stare into his are brighter. She's never looked so beautiful to him.

He leans in, and she holds her breath. Her eyes are just starting to drift shut and she feels his breath on her face, when he speaks.

"So all these dates, and still no kiss for you? I'm an incredible tease," he whispers with a soft laugh. Sybil's eyes fly open and she sees his grinning face.

He moves away from her, still chuckling, and she smacks him on the shoulder, trying to get her racing heart to slow. How does she make the mistake of thinking he cares, over and over again?

"Well, let's go then, I'm starting to feel a little chilly," she says briskly, putting her hands in her pockets and starting to walk away from him. There is no response and when she turns back, Tom is still standing there, looking at her.

"Let's go!"

Tom strolls over to her, throwing his arm around her shoulders as he nears. He pulls her close to his side, and Sybil lets out a breath as his familiar scent washes over her. She should probably accept the fact that he'll never be hers, not in the way she wants him.

They make it home the rest of the way in near silence, though Tom doesn't let go of her. Her flat is closer so they stop there, and she gets her key in the door, and opens it.

"Sybil?" he says quietly. She looks at him over her shoulder. With his hair a bit messy from the wind and his familiar jacket over his broad shoulders, she thinks she can't possibly love him more than this.

Tom reaches out a hand and gently turns her to face him. She looks up at him, trying hard to hide the hurt in her eyes, but she's not sure he doesn't see it anyway. He's always been able to read her too well.

"What is it, I've got to be going," she says, trying to be brusque, but only succeeding in being breathless. He's looking at her very steadily, and the intensity of his eyes makes her cheeks burn. He takes a step closer then another, until their bodies are all but melded against one another against the frame of the door. She's sure she's not breathing normally at this point, or maybe she's not breathing at all.

The night is silent but for the sound of their breathing. Hers sounds harsh and loud, while his blends with the night. He's inches away from her face, and getting closer all the time. She can't help reaching for him as he nears, her hands coming to rest on his cheeks and her lips seeking his. He pauses, head tilted over hers, lips an inch apart. His warm breath hits her mouth and she shivers.

"I've wanted to do this for a long time," he breathes out, and before she has time to react, his lips are on hers.

It's so unlike their previous kiss, which was shy and unsure. This time, he presses himself close against her, his mouth coming to meet hers again and again until she's dizzy and wrapped up in his arms. She pulls away to breathe and he moves his lips to her ear, making her gasp.

"Can we go in?" he whispers against her skin and she nods wordlessly. Her hands fumble with the knob until he reaches behind her and opens it, pushing her inside and shutting the door behind him.

Sybil pulls away from him long enough to pull off her jacket and shoes, watching as Tom does the same then reaches for her again. They fall awkwardly into the couch and Tom pulls Sybil onto his lap and trails kisses down her neck. His hands thread through her hair and he undoes the ribbon securing her braid, fingers lazily winding through the curls as he pulls her face back to his.

Tom's phone vibrates in his pocket, interrupting the moment, and Sybil jumps. He laughs, and reaches to pull it out. He glances at the screen, then tosses it to the side before putting his arms back around her.

"Who was it?" she asks, moving her face to the side as he tries to kiss her lips.

"Nothing important," he says impatiently. "Come here…"

Sybil shivers at the low, caressing tones, and loses herself again as Tom's mouth covers hers.

* * *

Sybil wakes with a start in the middle of the night, and can't remember where she is for a moment. She's tightly wrapped in a strong and comforting grasp. Tom. She relaxes and snuggles closer to him. He groans and mutters something against her ear then stills again.

She can't go back to sleep, her mind racing as she recalls the evening. Tom had kissed her, finally, and it had stolen whatever parts of her heart weren't yet entirely his. His kisses were as incredible as he was, and just when she'd thought she wasn't entirely comfortable with how close they were getting, he'd stopped, and told her he should go. Sybil had convinced him to sleep over, and they'd agreed it would be only to sleep. Then she'd fallen asleep wrapped in his warm embrace. She'd never slept so well in her life.

Sybil turns her head to look at the clock. 3:15. Tom groans again and she turns back quickly, moving her hair away from his face and trying to lie absolutely still. She knows Tom is an extremely light sleeper, and she doesn't want him to hate sleeping next to her, when she loves it so much.

Sybil stares up at the ceiling, and smiles. She tries to think how long she's waited for this, how good it feels. After all the nights spent wondering if he'd ever love her back, to know that he felt the same way! Of course, he hadn't said he loved her, yet. She suspected it would take him time to say something like that, but he would, when he truly meant it, she was sure of it.

"Stop thinking," Tom mutters without opening his eyes, his arm tightening around her waist. Sybil grins and rolls over to face him.

"How did you know?"

"You're breathing differently. Like you're excited or something." He pats his hand against her abdomen then curls himself back around her, pushing his face against her shoulder.

"I was. I was thinking about you," she admits.

"Sybil-l-l-l," Tom whines. He removes his arms from around her and turns to face the other way, throwing the pillow over his head fussily.

"I can't help it. I'm in love with you."

Tom mumbles something but it's lost in the pillow. She puts her arms around him and he lets out a small contented sigh.

"What did you say?" she asks after a minute. Tom pulls the pillow off of his head long enough to say, "I said, go to sleep."

Sybil laughs. "But I'm awake, and I can't sleep. It's 3:15 in the morning. And I can't stop thinking about you, even though you're right here next to me. What does that say about me?" she wonders out loud.

Tom pulls the pillow off his head and turns to look at her with a smirk. "I can think of a few ways to tire you out enough to let us both sleep again," he says.

"Tom!"

"Kidding…"

"But while we're on the topic, you should know I was raised with very strict values. I don't… um…"

"Got it."

"Of course, I doubt my mother would approve of anything else I've done recently. So I suppose-"

"Sybil, really. I was just kidding."

"Oh."

Tom pulls the pillow back over his head, and Sybil leans her forehead against his back, listening to his breathing. After a few minutes, she shifts away restlessly and Tom groans again.

* * *

"Are you sure I can't make you breakfast? I'm kind of good at eggs now."

"No, thanks, I just need to get showered and to work. I probably won't be around tonight, I have to cover a political meeting at 8."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Definitely. See you." He kisses her quickly then grabs his jacket, slides into his shoes, and heads out the door.

Sybil stands watching the door for a good five minutes, then shakes herself. "Work, Sybil, go," she says sternly then hurries to take a shower.

* * *

"Where were you last night?" Meara demands the moment he walks in to his flat that night.

"Sybil's," he mutters, trying to hurry past. Meara isn't having any of it.

"What?! Did you shag her?!"

He pauses reluctantly but doesn't turn around. "No."

"Wait, did you kiss her?"

"Ye-es."

"Oh my god!"

"Shut up."

"Oh my god! You snogged! You spent the night! What the-"

He whirls and meets her gaze. "We're together. I think. I never actually asked her. Damn, do you think-"

"Relax, I'm sure she's not off shagging another bloke right now."

"Stop with the shagging, just cuz you're always doing it with Garrett-"

"Am not!"

"Whatever, I'd rather not know."

"Prat. Come here, tell me what happened."

He collapses onto the seat next to her. "Nothing... Well, we went to the basketball game, and then we went to her flat."

"And you kissed her."

"Yeah."

"And then you stayed the night."

"Yeah."

"And you didn't shag."

"No."

"I can't even believe it. I thought you'd _never_ make a move!"

"Thanks for the confidence, sis."

"You know I love you, Tommy. I'm ecstatic for Sybil."

"Not for me?"

"That poor girl has loved you for so long. I can only imagine how excited she is right now, finally got through your thick skull that you're meant to be together," she raps on his head.

"Yeah... She could hardly sleep," he laughs.

* * *

Sybil grins when she sees Tom stroll in the next evening. He smiles back and walks over to the bar, then without stopping, leans over to kiss her. She's aware of a man whistling from the corner, and blushes as he pulls away. Tom looks at the man with a smirk.

"Hi, Sybil, how are you?"

"Good. Great. You?"

"Better _now,_" he winks. "Can you take a break for a second and come sit with me?" She nods and he takes her hand and pulls her to a booth in the corner.

He ushers her in and then slides in next to her. He leans in to kiss her properly and she smiles against his lips.

"Sybil. Darling. I realized after I left yesterday that I'd never actually asked you if you'd be my girlfriend."

"Oh."

"So? What d'you say?"

He's looking at her with a great deal of confidence, but she can see the vulnerability in his eyes. She smiles.

"I'd love to," she says, and seals her promise with a kiss.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Wrote this chapter as glimpses instead of actual scenes, to cover more plot, hence the choppier style. There will be one more chapter after this. **

* * *

"Huh, what?" Tom wakes up with a start and looks around blearily. "Sybil?"

"Shh, I'm right here. Just went to get some water. Go back to sleep."

He sighs and wraps his arms around her again, eyes closing. "Good."

* * *

"They're a bit much, I know. Sorry."

"No! They're all perfectly lovely. I'm glad to finally meet them. Kenneth is quite a joker, isn't he?"

"Yeah, sorry, no one can control him if he gets a pint in him."

"Tom, seriously, I can handle a few drunk men, I work in a bar, remember?"

* * *

"Tom…"

"Just… give me one sec, Syb, I need to finish this article by tomorrow."

"Tom. Need I remind you that your incredible girlfriend who loves you more than you probably deserve is waiting for you right now? Did I mention that I went to that little boutique on O'Connell Street that you've been trying to drag me to for ages? And that I picked up something my mother would certainly never approve of her youngest daughter _ever_ wearing?"

Tom closes the laptop without even bothering to save.

* * *

"He's not a bad bloke, is he, that Garrett?" Tom muses, wrapping his arm around Sybil as they cuddle on her couch. He practically lives here, what with spending most nights and evenings, and Meara has started to complain that she misses him. Tom suddenly likes Garrett a whole lot more.

"You just like that you have a convenient excuse to escape your flat," Sybil giggles.

* * *

"Happy birthday," Tom says, pulling out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. Sybil looks up from where she is counting money behind the bar.

"How did you ever find out?"

"Mary told me."

"Mary! When did you talk to her?"

"Remember that day you left your phone at my place? Well, she called and I answered, to tell her you couldn't be reached, obviously, and well, we talked a bit. She said some very interesting things," he smirks at her.

"Oh my god. What did she tell you?"

"Well, for one," Tom leans over the bar and pulls her into a kiss, "when your birthday is. Secondly, that-" he whispers in her ear for a second. A few customers raise their eyebrows at them, but mostly everyone who frequents The Ferryman is too used to Tom and Sybil to care anymore.

"Oh my _god_," Sybil moans, her face turning red. Trust Mary to remember something like that!

* * *

"Sybil?"

"Hm?"

"Are you asleep?"

"Not anymore."

"Sorry… I just… I've been wanting to tell you something, but it never seems like the right time."

"Tom, it's… 2 in the morning. Why are you even up?"

"I don't know. I can't sleep. And you were snoring."

"No, I wasn't!"

"Yeah, I'm just kidding. Anyway, I just wanted to say that… I love you." His voice is barely above a whisper, and he's looking up at the ceiling and not at her. Sybil gasps and he turns to face her.

"You don't have to say it if you don't mean it. Or if you aren't ready," she says gently.

"No, I mean it. I'm sorry it's taken me forever to admit it. Or realize it, I suppose. I guess I'm just terrible with this emotion thing."

"Don't say that," she takes his face between her hands. "Your heart needed time to heal, before it'd let you feel again. You aren't to blame."

"Well, maybe it's not broken anymore? Do you think that's possible? Because I really am in love with you, I can't-… I can't describe it, but… it feels right. Doesn't it?... Being with me?"

"It always has felt right, Tom."

* * *

"Tom, listen to me for a minute."

"Listening."

"Tom, look at me. I need you to stop working for a second and pay attention to what I'm going to say, ok?"

"Are you breaking up with me?" He puts his laptop aside anxiously.

"No! But I am quitting my job."

"Oh! Well, good on you. About time."

"Really? You think so?"

"I've been telling you that since we met, I think."

"Yeah, you have. But… what will I do now? Not like I can afford rent anymore."

"Ah, forget about that. Move in with me and Meara."

"Do you mean that? I couldn't really pay you much in the way of rent, if I'm not working. I do have a little bit saved up and-"

"No, I don't want rent, of course."

"Tom, that's hardly fair."

"Meara isn't paying me rent. She doesn't make money as a student."

"She's your sister."

"And you're my girlfriend. It's not a big deal, really, Sybil."

"And what will I do with my time? I'd get dreadfully bored, when you're at work, wouldn't I?"

"Why don't you go to school with Meara? Get that nursing degree."

"Isn't it very expensive?"

"Maybe your parents would pay for it."

"That's another thing I want to talk to you about. I want to go home for a visit."

"God, Sybil, just full of surprises, today, aren't you?"

* * *

"I'm so glad I can see my brother for more than ten minutes each day again."

"Shut it, Meara. You're making Sybil feel awkward."

"No, she's not."

"No, I'm not, I'm also so happy I get to see my brother's awesome girlfriend whenever I want, instead of the odd evening."

"And do you like hearing her too?" he winks. Meara swats his arm.

"Yes, you two could afford to be a little quieter, but hey, I'll have my revenge when Garrett visits again, won't I?"

Tom groans.

* * *

"So there are four nursing programs here in Dublin, and I can't afford any of them."

"Just apply, we'll figure out those details later."

* * *

"Tom, do you want to come with me to England?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"I don't do trick questions."

"Yes, you do, do you remember last week when you asked me if that dress suited you, and I said-"

"You said no, and I was fine with it."

"Uh, no, you were pissed with me for the rest of the day."

"Tom, I was not! I mean, I was a _little_ surprised, because when that Katie McGrath wore something similar in that one movie, you couldn't take your eyes off her."

"It's alright if she dresses like that, she's an actress. I don't want every man in Dublin eyeing _my_ girlfriend."

* * *

"So you never answered me about England."

"What about it?"

"I'm going in a week or so. Do you want to come with?"

"I think your parents would probably murder me."

"I'd protect you. There are a lot of hiding places in Downton, I'd make sure you were safe. And you can meet my other sister, Edith. I swear she's loads easier to get along with than Mary."

"Why do you say that? Mary and I are pals now."

"What? Did you talk to her again?"

"Yes, she sends the odd text or two. I think she quite likes me now."

"How did she even get your number?"

"She asked for it. For emergency use only, of course."

"Oh, of course."

* * *

"Tom. England?"

"Sybil… can I admit I'm a little scared to face your father? He sounds terribly old-fashioned, and I doubt he'd like I'm living with his youngest daughter."

"You're not just living with me, you love me, don't you?"

"Of course! Why would you ask that?"

"Well, so then, what's the problem? We're in love, it's perfectly respectable. I mean, he might put you in a different room when we're there, but we can't expect miracles, can we?"

"Well…"

"It'd mean a lot to me if you'd come."

"Alright, alright, put away your pouts, I'll come. But don't say I didn't warn you when things go to hell."

* * *

"Sybil, mail came for you today."

"Oh, my god, Meara, would you open it? It's from one of the programs I applied to."

"Sure… Dear Ms. Crawley, blah blah blah… hmm… oh, look… Congratulations! Etc etc etc… Yup, ok, safe to see," she holds the letter out to Sybil.

"What does that even mean?" She looks at the letter. "Oh, my god. I'm in the program, they've accepted my previous course work!"

"Yup! Looks like you even got a bit of a scholarship too, see, there at the bottom."

"Oh, wow, I need to call Tom right now."

* * *

"What are the chances he shoots me with one of those huge hunting guns?"

"My father doesn't hunt. He's not that old-fashioned."

"But he owns the guns, right? I'm assuming they'd still work."

"I'll be your shield."

"Absolutely not. You're not allowed to sacrifice your life for mine. Have you been watching too much _Merlin_ again?"

"It's possible. I have a little crush on that guy."

"He's Irish. See, I knew you had a thing for Irishmen."

* * *

"Papa!" Sybil gets down from the taxi and rushes to embrace her father. Robert is stern and forbidding, but he returns the embrace. She looks up at him. He seems older and more weary than since she left nearly a year ago.

"Sybil… It is good to see you."

"Mama, so good to see you again." Cora looks much the same as ever, and she squeezes her daughter tightly as a few tears spill from her eyes. She looks her daughter up and down, taking in the shorter hair, the hint of make-up, the confident air. Ireland has changed Sybil.

"Mama, I hope you don't mind, I've brought Tom." She reaches to pull Tom towards them, lacing their fingers. Robert and Cora exchange glances.

* * *

"So, Tom, what is that you do?"

"Tea, sir?"

"Uh, yes, please. Thank you. I'm a journalist, sir."

"Does that pay well?"

"Relatively. I'm expecting a promotion to news editor within the year."

"And do I understand Sybil correctly when she tells me that you offered my daughter a place to stay when she decided to leave her job?"

"I did." He holds his breath, expecting the inevitable question about sleeping arrangements, but Robert says nothing further.

* * *

"You have a beautiful home, Lady Grantham."

"Oh, please, Tom, call me Cora. And thank you. It's been in our family for generations. It will likely go to Mary, once she marries Matthew. He's a lawyer, you know."

"Yes, she's mentioned him. We've spoken a bit, and I saw her when she visited Sybil. Is she going to be returning home this week?"

"Yes, she should be back tomorrow evening. She wouldn't miss a chance to see her dearest sister. We see so little of Sybil as it is."

"Uh… I apologize, if that's in any way my fault…"

Cora laughs. "Oh, no, I wasn't blaming you. After all, when Sybil ran off to Ireland, I highly doubt she thought she'd meet you."

"But I'm glad she did."

"As is she, I'm sure."

* * *

"Papa, I've been accepted into a nursing program in Dublin. It's one of the finest programs in the country-"

"In Ireland. I'm sure English programs are far superior."

"But I want to stay in Dublin, with Tom. So it's my best choice."

"So you never intend to return to your home?"

"Papa… Dublin _is_ my home now. With Tom."

"The man hasn't even asked you to marry him after you've been seeing one another for this long! Your place is not with him, it's with your family, in England."

"We'll never agree on this, Papa. I must go see where Tom is. Excuse me."

* * *

"She means to stay in Dublin forever, Cora. She intends to join a nursing program and continue living with this man outside of marriage. Where did we go so wrong with her?"

"Robert, I don't believe it's so bad, darling. I'm sure they'll marry eventually. Tom seems a decent man, and he adores her. As for the nursing, well, we allowed her to pursue it once, didn't we?"

"But that was here, in London, under our supervision. Now, she just runs wild on her own."

"I'm afraid there won't be a thing we can do to stop her, either, Robert."

"I know."

* * *

"Mary! So good to see you again!"

"Sybil, darling, you look happy. Am I going to hear an 'I told you so'?"

"Hello, Mary, good to meet you again."

"Likewise, Tom. From what I hear, you've been making my sister very happy. Ought I to be concerned about any wedding bells in the near future? Or perhaps a niece or nephew?"

"Mary!"

Tom laughs. "Perhaps both."

* * *

"Hello? Who's that-oh, Sybil. God, you scared me. This house is huge. And a little creepy at night, I'll admit."

"I couldn't sleep without you next to me."

"Your parents would throw me out if they found you here."

"They won't find me."

* * *

"Sybil, is there any way you can extend your trip? It's only been a week."

"I'm sorry, Mama, Tom has to return to work."

"Well, you can stay. He can return if he needs to."

"That's true, Sybil, I don't want to take away from your time with your family."

"I'd rather go back, I think. I'll need to look into the details about my nursing course."

"About that. Your father and I were thinking we might supply you with the tuition. We feel that we were prepared to pay for it once, and we would like to help you, if you would allow it."

"Why didn't Papa tell me himself? Why's he getting you to do it?"

"To be honest, I think he's a little intimidated by your new, independent attitude. He's not used to his baby girl not needing him for anything, and he's a proud man, you know that. But your father feels the same way I do."

Sybil looks at Tom, who smiles at her.

"That would be lovely, Mama, thank you so much. I'll go find Papa and thank him right now."

Cora turns to Tom as Sybil exits the room.

"Thank you, Cora, this means a lot to Sybil. And to me."

"She is our daughter, even if she may not like the fact."

"She does, believe me, she loves you all so very much. I think she just feels a little… smothered… here. I'm sorry, that's a terrible thing for me to say. And here I was trying to impress you," he laughs.

"No, I believe you're right, Tom. As difficult as that is to hear, she doesn't need us quite so much anymore. Perhaps not at all. It's not easy to let a child grow up, but we must, isn't that true?"

"But I can sympathize. My little sister, who is Sybil's age, grew up for many years with an ill mother, so my brothers and I raised her. It was never easy giving her her independence the way she demanded it. She wasn't perhaps as adventurous as Sybil – she certainly never left the country. But she went to uni and lived by herself for a year until-… she came back to live with me after a year because I was-… it was a difficult period for me. So she came back then. But now she's got a boyfriend and he seems serious about her, and it's terrifying. So I can understand, a bit, what you're feeling."

"You have a good heart, Tom. I can see why Sybil loves you."

"I love her too. And I have only the most honorable intentions-"

"Oh, do stop with that formal nonsense, Tom. Save it for Robert! I think I understand you a bit more now, and I know you mean to marry Sybil, when you're both ready."

"Don't tell her, please? I want it to be a surprise when I actually propose."

"Oh, of course. Secret's safe with me."

* * *

"I'll have to be heading back to London, Tom. It was good to see you again. Next time I expect to see you in a church wearing a suit, understand?"

"_What_?"

"My wedding, of course. Did I scare you? Matthew proposed finally, so we're to be married in June. Sybil needs to attend, and you will too, I'm sure. So bring a suit."

"Oh… of course. It was… good seeing you too, Mary."

"Why do you look like you've seen a ghost, Tom?"

"Sybil! Um… oh, nothing."

* * *

"I do wish you could stay longer, Sybil. Please visit again soon."

"I will, Mama. I promise. Thank you again, Papa, for paying for my nursing program. I'll keep you informed how it goes."

"It was good meeting you, Cora. Thank you for everything."

"Thank you, Tom. You've taken good care of my daughter for me."

"Ahh, I think she does a better job taking care of me, if anything. It was good to meet you, sir."

"Likewise. Safe journey, Tom."

* * *

"Am I still alive?"

Sybil giggles and places her hand on his chest. "Still beating."

"Am I allowed to do this again?" He leans in and kisses her deeply, not caring that they're in the backseat of a taxi and the driver keeps looking back at them with a smirk.

"Any time you want."

"Well, then I think I'm okay. I can't believe I made it."

"Don't be such a baby, they were hardly going to eat you."

"Lovely bedside manner there, Nurse Crawley."

"Kiss to make it better?"

"Better safe than sorry, yeah?"

* * *

"Ok, flowers?"

"Yes."

"Aftershave?"

"Yes."

"Breath mints?"

"Shut up."

"Ring?"

"Ye- oh, shit. Where is the box?!"

"Tom!"

"I'm kidding, it's right here in my pocket."

"Prat… Ok, good luck!"

"Thanks, Meara."

* * *

"I'm glad you convinced me to go get a haircut, doesn't it look so much neater now?"

Tom looks up from where he's patting his jacket pockets a bit nervously. "Huh? Wow… um, I mean, yes! Lovely, you look so-…" he clears his throat. "Should we go? I have dinner reservations in an hour, and there's somewhere I want to stop first."

"Sure, let me just change my shoes."

* * *

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" Sybil comments, as they stand outside The Ferryman, peering inside the grimy windows.

"Best place on earth," Tom jokes. He takes Sybil's hand in his and pushes the door open.

"Are we really going in? I'd have thought you'd had enough of this place. Terrible food, dirty tables-"

"The best bartender in the history of Ireland-"

"Tom."

"Look, just for a few minutes, ok? I'm feeling nostalgic."

"Aww…"

"Here, go around to the other side of the bar-"

"Why? I'm so done being a bartender."

"Just- Sybil, just humor me, please?" He leans his elbows on the bar and she sighs but goes around to the other side. He can't resist kissing her quickly and she pulls away with a small giggle.

"Ok. So."

"Soooo?"

"Sybil-"

"Tom, you're acting very weird. Are you feeling alright? Maybe we should go get dinner."

"No, wait. There's just something I want to say, and I want to say it here."

"Ok… I'm listening."

He swallows nervously.

"Sybil. I wanted to bring you back here to say thank you. This is where … where we met, and where I got drunk so many times, and where you took pity on me, and decided to rescue my sorry self. And where I learned to stop drinking, and start… start appreciating how beautiful life is. How beautiful you are. Where... you started a new life for yourself, and became the wonderful, strong, independent woman you are now. The Sybil I… I yelled at that first evening, when I was drunk and you offered to walk me home, remember?" he laughs. "She's all grown up now, and she's-… she's a woman I love, and I'm proud of, and I'm so happy to call mine. And she's… someone I never want to lose…"

He chokes and looks away from her stunned gaze. He looks down at the bar for a moment, and tries to pull himself together.

"I know… I know that life isn't certain, that anything may happen at any moment and we could be parted one day… I can't tell you how much it hurts, when I think of losing you forever. I can't _not_ be with you, and I don't want to ever be. So… Sybil Crawley… what I'm really trying to say is… will you marry me?"

"Oh," she gasps. "Tom…"

He pulls a box out of his pocket and opens it to reveal a delicate ring with a single diamond that shines in the dim lights of the bar. An old man near the end of the bar waves his cane.

"Nice ring, mister," he croaks, winking at Sybil. She blushes and turns back to Tom.

"Oh, yes, yes! Of course I'll marry you, I've never wanted to do anything so badly in my life."

A few tears spill out of her eyes as Tom beams and slips the ring onto her finger then leans over the bar to hug her tightly. She pulls away after a moment and comes around the other side to embrace him properly.

"Tom, since you got to make your speech, I should get to make one too."

He laughs.

"You're right, what you said about me rescuing you. But I did it as much for me as for you. Because I was lonely and a bit lost, and very confused, and I wanted a friend. And then once I got to know you, I fell in love, so hard, and I've never stopped since. Because you are wonderful, amazing, funny… everything I've ever dreamed of having, and the best part is, you're mine. You've always supported me, whether it's giving me a place to live, or becoming a nurse, or coming home with me to face my parents. And I can never say thank you enough. Or I love you enough. I'll just have to say it every day, I guess, but even then it wouldn't be enough. I love you, I love you, I love you! God, I'm so happy right now!"

Tom smiles and kisses her slowly. "Well, I'm going to be happy _forever_, so I think I have you beat there," he whispers against her lips.

_I'll make the most of loving you..._


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Last chapter! Thanks so much to all who read and reviewed! **

**Note, Aoife is pronounced like Eva, if the Irish baby names website I went by is correct. Irish names are so pretty! It means beautiful, radiant, or joyful. **

* * *

**Epilogue**... some time later...

Sybil brushes her hair in front of the mirror, frowning as she tugs a comb through the thick curls. After a few minutes, she gives up, and braids it down her back. She adjusts the pin on her uniform that reads Nurse Branson, and rubs some lotion on her hands.

She walks out of the loo and opens the curtains in the bedroom. Sunlight streams in and Tom groans from where he is still buried under the sheets. "Morning, darling," she says cheerfully, walking into the kitchen and pulling out the sauce pan to make eggs.

She toasts bread, turns on the coffee maker and makes two omelets, then fills two plates. She hears a small whimper from the small room off their bedroom, and she turns off the coffee maker and hurries in to find her daughter standing up in her crib, reaching out to her.

"Morning, darling!" she coos. "Does Aoife want to go cuddle with Da?" She picks up the child and walking back into the bedroom, deposits her gently on Tom. Her husband's arms wind around the child instantly, and he opens his eyes with a grin at his daughter.

"Does Aoife want to have a lie-in with Da?" he asks, and lays her down next to him. The child winds her hands through his hair, and he hugs her, pulling the sheets over them both. He works from home on the three days a week Sybil goes in to the hospital, and he and Aoife enjoy their lazy mornings very much. Sybil complains that Aoife is a daddy's girl because of all the time she has to spend with him while her mother is at work. Tom says she just prefers him because she loves him better.

"Breakfast's ready, Tom. Are you going to get up?" Sybil asks, walking back in to the bedroom. Tom looks up at her lazily. She looks very professional and mature, sometimes he forgets entirely that she's only 26, and 8 years younger than him. Being a nurse agrees very well with Sybil, though he has to say he thinks being a wife and mother agrees with her even more.

"No," he stretches out his bare arm to her. "Come give us a kiss."

Sybil comes and sits on his lap with a smile, leaning down to kiss him softly. Aoife giggles and pulls her mother's thick hair and she winces, pulling away to kiss her too.

"We think Mummy should just stay home with us, right, Aoife? She's much too beautiful to go to work and get covered in blood and guts. Maybe she should just take off that uniform and get back in bed with Da," he grins at her as she puts a hand over his mouth. Aoife is not yet one year old, but Sybil is already worried about the things her Da says around her.

"Hush," she whispers at him, moving her hand so she can kiss him again. His hand comes up to stroke her face, and she grasps his wrist. The scars are faded, but still visible to her eyes, and she kisses them gently.

"I'll be home at 5," she promises, and tickling Aoife on the stomach, she gets up and straightens her clothes. "Don't let her put things in her mouth, remember, and don't forget to give her lunch. She's getting a tooth in, so give her her ball to chew on if she starts getting fussy."

"I know, Sybil, I do this three times a week," he groans, turning back to his daughter. "I dunno what you want all those fancy baby toys for, anyway, I just stick her finger in her mouth when she fusses."

"Tom! You can't give her her own finger to bite. At least give her yours."

"How am I supposed to type if she's chewing on my finger? Besides, I wouldn't want to lose a finger to a baby. I think you like them pretty well, or at least that's what it looked like last night."

"Tom, not in front of the baby!"

"Eh, it's alright. She knows her Da and Mummy love each other very much, and that's how they made her," he smacks kisses against her small palms, and she shrieks with laughter.

Sybil comes to sit on her daughter's other side, and rubs her fingers through Tom's hair.

"I love you," he tells her. "Love you both."

"Love you too, darling."

End.


End file.
